Slave to the Dark
by Kaeru Rei
Summary: When told about the prophecy, Voldemort decides he wants this powerful child as his servant and abducts him. With no one to stop him, he puts Britain under his dominion. Hogwarts, however, still stands. To break it down, he sends his most valued servant to work it from the inside out. AU. D/s relationship between Voldemort and Harry. Dark!Harry. Warnings inside.
1. Prologue

**_Disclaimer:_** _Of course I make no profit out of writing down my perversions. The characters belong to JK Rowling; the issues are mine though._

 ** _Warnings:_** _Non-consensual sexual slavery; Harry is bound to Voldemort as a belonging (he's not considered a 'person' anymore). BDSM practices in future chapters. Some other men (besides Voldemort) will also fuck Harry (namely Severus and Lucius, but I might use someone else if it is requested). Underage, voyeurism, humiliation, torture, murder… you name it._

 ** _A/N:_** _You will notice my Voldemort is kinda OOC when compared to his cannon counterpart; he's affectionate, less inclined to scare his followers to death and a better tactician. That's because he's neither insane nor stupid in this story._

 **Prologue**

The man knelt before the dais, his greasy black hair falling around his face in thick strands. Nothing could be read in either his deep voice or impassive, respectful black gaze; but to the Dark Lord it was apparent that the man was hiding his excitement at being able to bring such vital information.

"And you are sure of this Severus, yes?"

"Absolutely, My Lord, I heard the woman speaking myself. I can move it to the front of my mind for you to see, My Lord, if you so desire."

"No need, Severus. You have proven to be a faithful servant, so I will trust you on this."

"You honor me, My Lord."

"You deserve no less, my faithful one. I will seek the Potters myself and if what you told me is proven true, you will be greatly rewarded."

A slight tremor traveled down the hunching form's back and Lord Voldemort knew it was anticipation rather than fear. Yes, Severus Snape had not lied, for Lord Voldemort could read people better than any other mage.

No one lied to him twice.

"You may retire now, Severus. Do not speak to anyone else of what you just told me. When the time is right, I will make a public announcement."

Severus stood slowly but gracefully. His black eyes shone with pride as he gave a final bow to the Dark Lord and made his way out of the stone chamber.

Lord Voldemort sat on his metal throne dressed in luxurious black robes with silver lining. He was a picture of power and menace: tall, with regal cheekbones and completely white skin; his gleaming red eyes were both parts intimidating and striking, and framing his cold features fell a black mane of clean-cut hair.

Sighing contently, Voldemort rolled up his left sleeve to reveal a dark tattoo-like mark upon his inner forearm. The mark was shaped as a scowling skull with long fangs and a serpent coming out of its jaws. While the skull was still, the serpent coiled and hissed as if ready to strike. Voldemort smiled sweetly at it and touched its head with the tip of his slender wand.

"Lucius, Bella, come to me," he whispered.

Less than a minute had passed when the double door to the chamber opened wide and two people came forth. The one in front was a woman with a deranged look to her; she somehow seemed to be both skipping and dancing while she walked, and her long mane of unruly black curls accentuated the jumpy quality of her movements. She would have been very pretty with her big eyes and pure-blood bone structure if it weren't for the manic grin she wore and the way her eyes seemed to be about to fall off their sockets.

Behind Bellatrix walked a man that was the very image of pride and blood purity. Lucius Malfoy carried himself with an air of wealthiness and dominance that contrasted sharply with the woman's antics.

"My Lord, you called?" Inquired Lucius impassively while bowing low at the waist in front of the Dark Lord.

Bellatrix had thrown herself at the man's feet, barely refraining from touching him, a dreamy expression to her bulging eyes. She was murmuring under her breath, but no words could be made out of her speech.

"Ah, Lucius, Bella. How good it is to see you again. My loyal, loving servants. I have called on you because you will be given a great honor."

"Master!" Moaned Bellatrix, wriggling her hips. Voldemort petted her head absentmindedly while looking directly at Lucius.

"We are unworthy of your attention, My Lord," he said.

"Oh, Lucius… How it pleases me to hear your praises. But it _is_ true that you both deserve your position. You've earned this great honor I'll bestow upon you."

"What is it, Master?" Asked Bellatrix while kissing Voldemort's leg through the black fabric of his robes. Her hands twitched on the floor, as if it was difficult for her not to reach out and worship him with them as well.

"Enough, Bellatrix," cut Voldemort in a hard voice. She immediately recoiled, falling off the dais in an ungraceful heap of cloth and hair.

Neither Lucius nor Voldemort paid her any mind.

"I have business to attend to," explained Voldemort calmly. "And you two will accompany me. Just the two of you."

"My Lord, no words could express my gratitude," whispered Lucius, bowing his head.

"My life is yours, Master!" Cried Bellatrix, just short of yelling. "I will die for you!"

"Now, now," said Voldemort in his sweetest tone. "No one said anything about dying. You will live to see a better world, Bella, my darling."

Bellatrix seemed disappointed, but quickly re-composed her mad grin. She began muttering nonsense anew.

"We will be leaving today when the sun goes down," declared Voldemort. "Go, you two. Be ready by sunset."

Bowing, both Death Eaters left the chamber.

Lord Voldemort stood then from his throne and stretched lazily. Walking regally, he retired to his personal living quarters.

* * *

The sky was tinted a deep red as the last vestiges of sun disappeared below the black lines of the horizon. The scarce light reflected off Voldemort's red irises. The corner of his thinly-lipped mouth quirked as he felt Lucius' and Bellatrix' presences approach from behind him. He felt Lucius' slight apprehension and deep respect and Bellatrix' insane excitement. His children, his servants. He allowed himself a spark of pride before turning to face them. They were dressed in their black Death Eater robes, the bone skull masks hiding their features from sight.

"I see you are ready. Good. Follow me."

Voldemort then jumped off the dark stone balcony to the darkness of the roaring sea far below. As he fell, he became ethereal of appearance, a line of dark smoke that cracked and snapped with the wind. His falling then turned into a flight of great speed, and he changed direction towards the cottage he knew hid the Potters. After him, two fast smoky figures followed, the delighted cackles of Bellatrix getting lost in the wind.

The three traveled that way for several minutes, until Voldemort spotted the secluded cottage in the distance and began reducing speed and losing height. The three smoke balls collided with the ground, producing a small crater each. Smoke tendrils arose from the holes, thickening until they took the corporeal shape of Voldemort and his two servants.

The three were standing some fifty meters away from the cottage, and Voldemort felt the inhabitant's fear as they scrambled inside.

"There are only two adults and the child," said Voldemort. "You will take care of the adults. Do not kill them yet, wait for me while I retrieve the child."

"Yes, My Lord."

"For Master!"

Voldemort walked leisurely towards the house while his two Death Eaters ran before him. He saw the lights of spells through the windows and heard a woman's screams.

Peace, he felt at peace.

Finally reaching the threshold, he looked inside in feigned interest before stepping in. It had been a cozy little home, he supposed, surveying the damaged furniture and burning curtains. A very young man whom he immediately recognized as James Potter was tied in the middle of the room, blood running down his face and a hateful expression in his clear blue eyes. Voldemort approached him with a small smile stretching his thin lips. He crouched beside the man, appreciating the zipper that had replaced the prisoner's mouth with a hum.

"What a nice home you have, Mr. Potter," Voldemort mocked. Bellatrix laughed, thrilled. A hoarse rumble could be heard from within Potter's throat. Ignoring him, Voldemort stood once again and continued roaming the house in the same serene fashion.

"Where is the bitch?" He asked no one in particular.

"Upstairs, My Lord," answered Lucius.

Humming again, Voldemort took the stairs one at a time, the small smile still on his face.

Lily Potter was sprawled on the floor, her red mane knotted and disarrayed. Bellatrix' work, most likely. She was unrestrained, but seemed paralyzed from the neck down. Tears stained her pretty face.

"Do not hurt my child, I beg of you!" She screeched in a small voice full of hurt. "Take me instead, kill me if you want! But please, for God's sake, don't harm my child!"

Voldemort stood before her with a dominant stance. He smiled perversely and the intensity of her sobs increased. Satisfied, he turned from her to the cradle containing the child. A privacy bubble had been raised around it, so that no sound could disturb the innocent creature's sleep. Slowly, Voldemort took the child in his hands and lifted him to his face. The infant opened his eyes sleepily and examined Voldemort silently, as in deep thought.

"Hello, thing," greeted Voldemort lowly. In the background, Lily's cries had quieted down to choked sobs and gasps. "I am Lord Voldemort. What is its name, bitch?" He asked the mudblood witch.

"Harry…," whispered the woman with baited breath.

Voldemort clicked his tongue.

"Pitiful, mugglish name," he declared. "I will give you a proper one later."

Voldemort then pointed his wand at the infant's forehead.

"No!" Choked Lily. "What are you doing!? What will you do to my child!?"

"Silence, scum!" Hissed Voldemort, throwing a silencing spell at the woman. "You disturb _my thing_ with your wails."

Pointing the wand at the baby again, Voldemort put him under a deep slumber.

"Yes, mudblood," he said, turning to the woman as he secured the child against his chest. "That which you called yours is now mine. Say goodbye."

Lily's mouth worked frantically in her muted distress. Voldemort didn't look twice in her direction as he took the stairs again to get reunited with his Death Eaters. The two of them eyed the baby questioningly, but said nothing.

"We are to spare the mudblood bitch," Voldemort announced, much to Bellatrix' dismay. "But you may do as you please with Potter. Just make sure he dies at the end. I will retire now."

Bellatrix looked as if she wanted to complain, but thankfully kept silent.

Stepping out of the cottage, Voldemort turned his gaze upwards.

"How about a star's name? No? Well, it's too Black," he told the sleeping child.

Shooting towards the sky in a ball of smoke, both disappeared into the night.


	2. The Announcement

_**For the disclaimer, see Prologue.**_

 _ **WARNING:**_ _BDSM. This chapter contains descriptions of sexual practices some of you may find disturbing._

 **Chapter One: The Announcement**

Mirage walked the dimly lit corridors with ease and familiarity. Master was calling, Mirage knew, and so it was answering to the call. When the big double door was finally in front of it, Mirage pulled down the blindfold to hide its beautiful green eyes from sight and opened it. Mirage could feel many pairs of eyes turn to it as it walked confidently to its Master's side. As its hips swayed, the high heels of the boots it wore were the only sound loud enough to truly break the silence.

"Ah, Mirage, my baby, you look delectable tonight," said Master. Mirage's cheeks flushed in pleasure at the compliment.

Upon reaching the stone platform, Mirage approached its Master's throne and knelt beside it, opening its legs wide and throwing its arms behind itself, leaning on its open hands. Somewhere behind it, someone gasped.

"Such a good boy," murmured Voldemort as he began petting the teen's raven-black hair.

Purring low in its throat, Mirage threw its head back to better expose its leather choker, thinking Master might want to chain him.

Voldemort took a moment to admire the creature's beauty and then leant towards it, letting a forked black tongue come out of his mouth to taste its scent. Delicious. Always so enticing… He allowed himself to close his eyes to better savour the taste. With an appreciative hum, the Dark Lord reached out with both hands and removed Mirage's blindfold to expose its vibrant pair of gleaming green eyes.

"Do you know why I've called you tonight, Mirage?" asked Voldemort. He watched the slave as he spoke, but his voice was loud enough that everyone could hear.

"This one does not know, Master," answered Mirage truthfully.

"The time has come, my brethren," said the Master, addressing the crowd of black-robed figures before them. "The remaining muggle population of Britain has been driven to isolation and we have taken the place that is rightfully ours.

"For centuries, Our Greater Kind was persecuted, forced to live the lives of outcast― but no more! Wizarding Britain now knows the true Way of Life!" here the Dark Lord paused, letting the Death Eaters voice their agreement. "Over the years, those who opposed our ideals have begun seeing the error in their ways, and now the sun shines over a new, free Kingdom in which we can be ourselves without hiding, without fear!" the robed figures applauded and shouted in agreement, in relief. "The future is bright, brothers and sisters," promised Voldemort. "Thanks to our example, powerful nations such as Germany, France, Sweden and the Netherlands are now working on their own liberation. Soon enough, Europe will be exclusively inhabited by the Wizarding Kind!" as the cheering died down; the leader adopted a grim expression and continued in an affected tone of voice: "It is because of this changes that we must take action to counter those who dare raise their wands against their own Kind in defence of the _lesser_.

"Dumbledore has transformed our most valuable institution, our children's haven, into a seedbed for slander. How are we to progress when those that teach the youth fill their heads with lies and fear?"

"Hogwarts must fall!" shouted someone. Murmurs of agreement were heard.

"Kill Dumbledore!" demanded another Death Eater.

"Indeed," agreed Voldemort. "And so it shall be. I have given this matter thought over long days and longer nights," he said. "Because, of course, we do not want our children to suffer in the name of the few remaining rebels, do we?" angry murmurs were the response. "So this is what I have conceived: I will send mine own most faithful, beloved servant to Hogwarts on the pretence of being a student to help me break it from the inside.

"Let our children see that we are _the good ones_ through the example of one of our own!"

"Who will be given this great task, My Lord?" asked one of the Death Eaters in the front row.

"Who indeed?" mused the Dark Lord in a stage whisper.

Some hands rose amongst the crowd. Shouts of "I volunteer!" and "I will, My Lord!" were heard.

"Let me do your bidding, Master!" squealed Bellatrix, louder than anyone else.

"Ah, Bella," said Voldemort pleasantly, tugging at his slave's scalp. "You will have your orders, of course, as becomes your honoured position, but not this time."

The woman deflated a bit and put down her arm.

"Severus," called Voldemort. "Come forth."

One of the robed figures stood from his seat and stepped forward with an ominous stride. He took off his bone mask and bowed before the Dark Lord.

"Do you know who this man is, Mirage?" Voldemort asked his pet, who had been kneeling patiently all through its Master's speech.

"This one has seen him, Master. Master has permitted this man to touch me."

"Yes. You are such a good pet, Mirage. What's his name?"

"Master calls this man Severus Snape."

"Good, good," praised Voldemort, scratching behind Mirage's ears. "What does Severus do when he is not in my castle?"

Mirage flushed red and lowered its head.

"This one does not know, Master," it murmured sorrowfully, afraid it had disappointed the man.

"Don't worry, baby," reassured Voldemort gently. "I will tell you: Severus is a potions expert. He teaches the kids at Hogwarts how to correctly brew potions."

Mirage turned to Snape with eyes full of awe. Despite himself, Snape found he was staring. The boy simply looked _so_ _edible_ …

"You do enough already, Severus," Voldemort told him. "But, as I am sure you realize, you will play a main character in this ordeal. We will meet some other time to discuss the particulars. Await my summons. Now, Lucius, come forth."

The tall blond advanced to the dais.

"Hello, my dear Lucius," greeted Voldemort amiably, pleased at perceiving the man's eagerness. "It is my understanding that you have a child around Mirage's age, yes?"

"I do, My Lord," answered Lucius emotionlessly.

"Good. Your child, where is he?"

"Amongst the younger recruits, My Lord."

"Draco, come to me," called Voldemort.

A teenaged boy remarkably similar in appearance to Lucius walked to the platform from the back of the chamber and removed his bone mask.

"You are a beautiful young man, Draco," said the Dark Lord. "Have you met Mirage yet?"

Draco shook his head no.

Humming, Voldemort took a silver chain out of the pocket of his robe and attached it to Mirage's choker. He then stood and walked to the edge of the dais, Mirage crawling with feline sensuousness behind him.

"Here," said Voldemort, offering Draco the chain. Confused, the young Malfoy took it. Behind him, his father gasped. There was silence for a few seconds.

"I don't understand, My Lord," confessed Draco at last.

Laughs erupted all around the chamber.

"Now Lucius," mock-scolded the Dark Lord. "Have you not been teaching young Draco the finer arts of dominance?"

"I'm afraid I haven't, My Lord," choked out Lucius, mortified.

"Mirage," Voldemort addressed his pet. "From now on, Draco may touch you. Draco," he added, turning to the other teen. "You may touch Mirage."

The blond boy raised a hesitant hand, and Mirage stretched sensually to meet it. Steeling himself, Draco dragged his fingers softly through Mirage's scalp, who immediately threw its head back and lifted its arse.

"Good, Draco, that's good," approved Voldemort. "You will get to know Mirage more intimately at a later date," he promised. Voldemort then took the silver chain from the dazed boy's hands and pulled harshly. Mirage approached him obediently to once again take its waiting position: kneeling with the legs open and the arms resting behind to support its weight.

"Mirage will be attending Hogwarts this year as my personal representative," the Dark Lord announced out loud. "Because of its power and unconditional obedience, I have chosen it.

"If anyone amongst you disagrees with this pronouncement, write to me directly and we'll meet in private to discuss the matter."

No one dared say a word.

"Now," continued Voldemort, satisfied. "Before I declare this mass-meeting settled, I'd like to remind those that are still students at Hogwarts to always treat Mirage with nothing but dignity and respect. If you are not sure of what this entails, ask your parents for directions. Also, I expect you to be readily available to aid Mirage if it were to ask for your help, regardless of which House you belong to. Are we clear on this?"

Murmurs of agreement were heard. Voldemort smiled benevolently.

"Unless you have unfinished business, you may retire now," then, turning to Lucius Malfoy he added in a lower voice: "Stay behind."

The Death Eaters were slowly standing and making their exit, some apparating directly, and Voldemort noted in complacency that their numbers were nearing three hundred. He feigned distraction while massaging a sensitive spot in Mirage's neck, who soon began purring contently.

"Lucius," he exclaimed when the chamber was empty but for the three of them. "Do you remember our agreement?"

"I wouldn't forget, My Lord," answered the man coolly.

"Good. Come with me, then."

Voldemort beckoned the man with his free hand and, pulling at Mirage's chain, began walking towards his personal quarters.

"How fares young Draco at Hogwarts?" he inquired conversely.

"Very well," said Lucius. "His marks are extraordinary, and he seems to have some authority and influence amongst his peers."

"That's good to hear," Voldemort paused then, as if measuring his next words. "I'm curious, Lucius, why haven't you taught him the basics of dominance? Is he innocent?"

"I expect he's not, My Lord, but I haven't really _asked_."

Voldemort clicked his tongue in disapproval.

"No wonder you're always so thrilled at the prospect of doing my slave if you're usually this uptight about intimacy, Lucius," he scolded lightly. "You must give him some instructions, if he is to share a bedroom with my pet. I'm sure they could benefit from one another."

"Certainly, My Lord, I will see to it."

"Good. I don't expect Draco to become a dominant overnight, you understand, but he was clueless today. That spoke disgracefully of the Malfoy House; it shouldn't happen again."

"I agree, My Lord. It is true that I have neglected Draco's… ah, sexual _education_ –shall we call it– but on my favour I'll say it's difficult for me to accept he's already sixteen. It feels like only days have passed since he was riding his first broom through the gardens."

Voldemort smiled a bit.

"I suppose you're right. Mirage is the only child I've seen grow, of course, but the nature of our relationship is quite different from what you have with your son. Or so you've led me to believe," he deadpanned.

"My Lord! I wouldn't ―"

The Dark Lord threw his head back and laughed.

"I'm teasing you, Lucius. He's pretty, I'll say as much, but couldn't hold a flame to my Mirage."

"It is exquisite," agreed Lucius.

"Yes. So here we are, Lucius, come on in," invited the Dark Lord, opening a great carved black door and stepping inside his main sitting room. "Would you like a drink?" he asked, walking towards the bar.

"Yes, thank you, My Lord," Lucius answered, settling at a settee.

"Go keep our guest company, Mirage," ordered Voldemort, taking the chain off its choker. Mirage stood and walked gracefully towards Lucius. Once it had sat beside him, the blond pulled it to him and began fondling the naked skin of its thighs.

"Missed me?" Lucius asked the creature. It snuggled closer to him.

"This one did, sir."

"Careful there, Mirage," warned Voldemort distractedly. "That almost sounded as if Master's rewarding is not enough for you."

"This one is sorry, Master!" cried the creature in embarrassment. "This one did not mean it that way. Master pleases me very much," it assured the blond.

"Often?" queried Lucius with a smirk, gazing at the approaching Dark Lord.

"Don't answer that, pet," forestalled Voldemort while placing a silver tray in front of their visitor. He then sat across from him and began preparing his own drink.

"Absinthe," approved Lucius, placing the spoon and a sugar cube over his goblet. "That was a good speech you gave down there, My Lord," he commented while waiting for Voldemort to finish pouring his spirits. "It sounded as if you had everything under control."

"I do," replied Voldemort, lighting the sugar cube with a tap of his wand. "When I'm done with him, that old fool will beg me for the mercy of the Killing Curse."

"I still find it hard to believe that he'd make public your blood status. That was rather low of him…"

"He's desperate," declared the Dark Lord. "His narrow-mindedness won't allow him to see I'm aiming higher than Slytherin himself," he paused to take a sip of his drink. "I'm not an idiot, Lucius. I know we need the muggles to increase our numbers; blood purity be damned."

"That declaration wouldn't sit well amongst your pure blooded followers, My Lord. I, for one, don't like it one bit."

"I know. It makes no difference for either of us, though. You will marry Draco off to some pure blood witch and I will continue strengthening the magical community worldwide. When everything is said and done, the pure blooded lifestyle will be more prosperous than ever."

"I drink to that," said Lucius, raising his goblet.

They drank in silence for a few minutes.

"And tell me, how's the Ministry doing?" the Dark Lord queried abruptly, leaning back in his seat.

"They're leaving very little out of the _Daily Prophet_ these days, My Lord. You should know most of it. Of course Scrimgeour won't kill himself like Fudge did, but everyone knows he's going mental with the pressure. He will probably resign the post by September."

"Good. Have you considered running for Minister? I've given it some thought, and decided I could use a trustworthy man to take the reins for once."

"I have," admitted Lucius. "Though I wouldn't get my hopes too high; Dumbledore still has enough influence to move the Wizengamot. He's the chief warlock, after all."

"I'm confident Mirage will help me defile his reputation in time. You just have to concentrate on making public appearances and giving some interviews."

"As you say, My Lord."

They lapsed into silence once again.

"About Hogwarts," began Voldemort. "Have you had any news on the Board's decision?"

"Not per se," answered Lucius. "You know I've given my strong opinion on the matter, and I'm quite sure most of them are convinced in our favour. The OWL results were most convenient, naturally, but they're rather hesitant about admitting a creature* into the student body."

"Has Dumbledore interfered again?"

"It may surprise you, My Lord, but he hasn't."

"It doesn't. Surprise me, I mean. Dumbledore is a delusional coot. He's under the impression that he'll somehow tear my slave away from me."

"Then― if I may be so bold― why did you ask, My Lord?"

"Just wondering what's going through that foolish head of his. Mirage would never leave me, would you, pet?"

Mirage raised its eyes to the Dark Lord.

"On its life, this one would not," it swore.

"See?" said Voldemort smugly. "I know how Dumbledore thinks, and he fancies himself capable of predicting my moves as well, but we're on quite different terms."

"Glad I'm on the winning side," commented Lucius with a grin, toying with Mirage's bootlaces.

Voldemort followed the motion with his red eyes.

"Say, Lucius," he spoke. "Would you like to move to a more… appropriate room? I certainly enjoy your company, but surely you don't plan on keeping Narcissa up all night?"

Lucius' grin stretched even more, a sadistic edge to it.

"That'd please me, My Lord."

Voldemort placed his empty goblet on the silver tray and stood.

"May I borrow the chain?" asked the blond innocently, still sitting.

He heard the Dark Lord chuckled under his breath.

"I'd say drop it, but then it would only be half as amusing," he replied, handing Lucius the silver chain. Without another word, he crossed the room and disappeared through a corridor.

"It's time, beauty," Lucius told the silent slave, fastening the chain to its choker. "Come pleasure Mr. Malfoy."

Mirage arched lazily, stretching, and offered the man a secretive smile.

Standing, Lucius pulled at the chain and steered Mirage towards the threshold Lord Voldemort had gone through. It led to a corridor with several doors to both left and right, a sliver of light coming out of the only opened one. Following it, Lucius entered a spacious room with a big double bed. The Dark Lord sat at a Louis XIV chair in the corner, his features hidden in shadows.

"I thought you weren't coming," he drawled, sounding bored.

Ignoring him, Lucius turned to an expectant Mirage.

"On your knees," he ordered. "And take that off," he added, pointing at the leather jerkin it wore.

Mirage lowered itself, spreading its legs and throwing its pelvis forward. Moving slowly, its enigmatic smile still upon its lips, it began unclasping the silver buckles that held the garment together. Taking it off, he arched back as far as the chain would permit, and issued a low growl.

Reaching forward, Lucius caressed the newly exposed skin and, in a sudden move, pinched one of the creature's nipples between thumb and forefinger and gave it a rough twist.

Mirage yelped and its body recoiled involuntarily. Its hands, however, remained behind itself, sustaining its weight.

"Appropriate," acknowledged Lucius, lowering his hands to the slave's thighs. "Should we tie you up now?"

"Do with this one as you please, sir," answered Mirage, averting its eyes to look in Voldemort's direction.

"Sure I will. _Levicorpus_ ," uttering a surprised gasp Mirage was hauled upwards, hanging awkwardly from one of its ankles.

"Wha ―?" a second spell had its mouth tape-gagged. "Hmnn ―!"

A breathless snigger escaped Lucius' mouth. Pointing his wand again, he transfigured the bed pillows into two heavy-looking weights. Mirage contorted awkwardly, its arms hanging uselessly around its head and its free leg swinging in discomfort. Letting go of the chain, Lucius walked to the bed and retrieved the weights. Waving his wand anew he hung each of them from one of Mirage's wrists; successfully bringing its movements to a halt.

"You're so pretty when you're powerless," appreciated the blond, walking around the teen in wolfish circles. "What will I do now? More binding? Stinging spells?"

"Use this," commanded Voldemort, still shadowed at the corner. A long, slender object flew towards Lucius, who caught it in slight confusion. It was a riding crop.

"As you say, My Lord," he purred, touching the crop's tip affectionately. Turning around, he hit Mirage hard across the back. It whimpered and jerked, its unbound leg kicking in Lucius' general direction. The weights made its body swing.

"Yes, I like that," approved the man, circling again. Mirage's eyes followed him defiantly. When Lucius tried to caress its chin with the riding crop, it kicked again, almost managing to connect the tip of its boot with the man's face. "Oh, no, gorgeous, that won't do at all," mock-reprimanded the man. Pointing his wand again, he vanished Mirage's leather shorts. His mouth stretched in a vicious smirk at the sight of the cock cage that enclosed the creature's genitals. If Mirage's face hadn't been all red from the blood flow already, he would have blushed.

"So, how about this?" proposed Lucius. "If you do manage to kick me, I will free you, how does that sound?" Mirage made a 'nghnnnn' sound behind the tape gag. "Okay then," said the man, slapping it hard in the arse. It started again, swinging anew, not even close to touching Lucius with its free leg this time. "What?" insisted Lucius, hitting its arse again. Mirage's cry sounded more pained this time, its eyes closing. "Yeah, that's good," approved Lucius, rubbing his cock through the cloth of his robes. "Give me more," he demanded, slapping it again, and again, and again, until Mirage's cries became guttural and its chest heaved rapidly.

Lucius poised himself in front of the creature, letting it watch as he unbuttoned his tailored robes and let them fall to the floor. Mirage's eyes were teary, its unbound leg bent awkwardly forward, no longer aiming for the man. Lucius' trousers joined his robes on the floor and his pants followed. His manhood stood thick and proud above a rosy, soft-looking set of balls.

"Like it, pretty?" he asked, running his right hand up and down the swollen shaft.

"Mrrrhn," came the reply. "Hmn nrnmghnn."

"I know," Lucius answered. "I want to do you too."

The blond pointed his wand once again, tying Mirage's legs together with an _Incarcerous_ so it could no longer kick. He then poised himself at its back, leaning forward to bite into its arsecheeks while rubbing his cock between Mirage's shoulder blades.

"Mnhhn!"

"Your skin smells so good," murmured Lucius, touching it with the tip of his nose. He then dove his face between the buttocks, kissing and licking at the creature's arsehole.

"Mnh! Hn… nhmmmm!" moaned Mirage, wriggling its body. Lucius' clothed arms surrounded it, keeping it in place and pressing his cock harder against its back.

"I know, pretty," he crooned, while continuing to rock his hips forward.

After two or so minutes of this routine, Mirage's leg muscles began to spasm; its body once again twisting against its restraints. Lucius retreated then; eyeing the creature's awakening manhood in a sort of sick fascination. Biting into his bottom lip, he smacked the riding crop hard across the back of Mirage's tights. Mirage cringed and arched, the chain that hung from its choker clinking against the weights.

Lucius let the crop fall to the floor and retrieved his wand. Cock in hand; he paced around the swaying form and, touching the tip of his member to its face, placed the tip of his wand halfway between Mirage's sternum and navel.

"If I take that gag off, will you be a good little whore and suck me?" he asked, sounding aloof. Mirage answered with a throaty 'mghnn'. "There you go, then," at which he let go of his cock and tore the tape gag from the creature's face. Mirage hissed at the sudden pain, a trickle of spittle escaping its mouth and rolling down its forehead. Its wheezing, gurgling pants filled the room.

"My head hurts," it complained. "Please sir, let this one down."

"Open wide," replied Lucius, introducing his shaft inside Mirage's mouth. "If you want down, you better start sucking."

And so Mirage did. With the same abandon it put onto any sexual activity, with the same urgency of the blood pounding inside its head, it did. Even though Mr. Malfoy was still pressing his wand to Mirage's tummy in mute threat, Mirage did not hesitate in letting the swollen organ into its mouth, relaxing its throat muscles as best it could to let it in deeper. Even when Mr. Malfoy's hand snaked behind Mirage's skull, pressing it hard against himself, Mirage kept engulfing the wet cock as if in hunger, as if it tasted better than anything it'd ever had in its life.

When Mr. Malfoy's arousal was so heavy his movements were graceful no longer and his breath came out in ragged, noisy pants, Mirage felt his own prick press painfully against the confines of its silver cage. In that moment, its mind was assaulted, as it always had, with images of Voldemort. The Dark Lord in his glorious white nudity, sitting at his throne with the air of one that could dominate everyone and everything. Master, The Master; his cock buried deep within Mirage and a constant stream of loving words rolling out of his tongue; sweet and thick and addicting like honey.

And Mirage knew, as he always did, that Master was in its mind, watching the same images and feeling the same overpowering need for release. This knowledge, the certainty of it brought deep, meowing moans to its throat. The vibrations and sounds that came with them took Mr. Malfoy to his climax, and as he quickly retreated to pump at his cock and cup his balls; Mirage closed its eyes and felt the hot spurts of spunk land on his skin while Mr. Malfoy's wand clanked, rolling away from them.

Then, as if a light switch had been turned off, Mirage fell over two big pillows that were weights no more. Licking its lips, it sighed.

"See yourself out, Lucius," spoke Lord Voldemort, neglectful of his Death Eater's after-sex state. The blond bent forward and picked up his wand; waving it to gather his clothing, he exited the room and closed the door without uttering a single word.

Mirage's rapid breathing was the only sound in the room.

"How do you feel, pet?" enquired Voldemort after a few seconds.

"My head still hurts, Master, but this one is okay," replied the slave, standing from the floor to sit at the bed.

Voldemort, still sprawled in his chair, eyed the reddened wrists as Mirage carefully removed the cage from his semi-erect member.

"Are you feeling 'okay' enough to take Master?"

"Certainly, Master," agreed Mirage, but Voldemort could easily see past his pet's sexual willingness. It was hurting and bone weary.

"Go take a bath, Mirage," he ordered, wanting to coat the creature's skin in healing salve himself but knowing he would probably fuck it if he did. "Apply Severus' salve everywhere you hurt, understood?"

"Yes, Master."

Mirage stood and walked with its usual feline cadence towards the door.

"Mirage?"

"Yes, Master?"

"Come share my bed when you're done."

Mirage's tired face split into a smile that was only slightly ruined by the traces of Lucius come that still clung to it.

* * *

creature*: Mirage's creature status has to do with him being Voldemort's property. He's legally recognized as a 'something' rather than a 'someone'.

 _ **. . .**_

 _ **A/N:**_ _I want to do as little explanatory notes as possible, because I feel they get in the way of some people's enjoyment of the story itself. So, if you have questions, feel free to ask them by either review or PM._


	3. New Student

_**For the disclaimer, see Prologue.**_

 **Chapter Two: New Student**

Mirage touched its lips subconsciously; remembering the long kiss Master had placed upon them just a few hours ago. It stood on its own in a smallish room adjoined to the Great Hall at Hogwarts. There had been young kids there with it, but they had been called by a stern-looking woman into the Great Hall. Mirage had been instructed to wait until its name was called by Headmaster Dumbledore before stepping out of the room.

While it waited, it heard someone sing about the founders in a deep baritone. Names were called afterwards, followed by the same deep voice announcing which House every student would be in. Mirage remembered reading about the sorting hat in _Hogwarts: A History_ , and wondered nervously which House it would be placed in.

A few more minutes elapsed and the lack of sound made Mirage's trepidation increase. A wave of applause suddenly broke the silence and when it quieted down the soft voice of Albus Dumbledore said:

"Before the banquet can begin, there is someone else we need to sort.

"This is something very unusual at a school like Hogwarts," explained the Headmaster. "But our Board of Governors has admitted a new student that will be starting in his sixth year," Mirage could hear the murmurs that arose at this information. "The new student's name is Mirage, and he had been home-schooled until now. He has approved his OWLs with top marks, and decided to join Hogwarts in order to better prepare for the NEWTs."

The stern-looking woman appeared again in the threshold of the room Mirage was waiting in.

"Come now," she said, urging it forward with an impatient beckoning of her hand, her mouth set in a rigid line.

Mirage pushed back its thin shoulders and gracefully entered the Great Hall, seeing for the first time the professors sitting at their table, Dumbledore in his podium and the tattered hat that lay over a small stool. The students were there as well; over three hundred of them, all looking at Mirage with inquisition in their faces. Some of them gasped and Mirage resisted the urge to lower its eyes, knowing it had no reason to be ashamed of wearing its choker for all to see.

"This is Mirage," said Dumbledore with a grandfatherly smile, gesturing in its direction with an extended hand. "I hope we can all get along. Now, Mirage, please sit," the old man invited, tilting his head in the direction of the stool.

The stern woman was now holding the hat, the frown still on her face. Mirage sat with the poise of a swan even though the stool was too short for its legs. It breathed in deeply as its eyesight was obscured by the hat being placed upon its head.

" _What have we here?"_ spoke a voice in its mind that Mirage knew was the hat's. _"This is most unusual. For a slave to be sorted… my, my, what will I ever do?"_

«Is something wrong with this one?» asked Mirage in its thoughts, a cold weight setting in its chest.

" _Yes and no,"_ answered the hat pensively. _"You are very good at what you are, no doubt, but have little to no personality traits other than your senses of servitude and devotion. You might have under different circumstances been someone but, as it is, are no-one, and I cannot sort someone whom is not."_

«Is there anything this one can do to help?»

" _Perhaps,"_ reflected the hat. _"I could certainly ask you some questions._

" _Are you brave and daring? Are you smart and thirsty for knowledge? Are you friendly and loyal? Are you crafty and ambitious?"_

«This one is whatever its Master wishes it to be,» answered Mirage truthfully.

" _Lord Voldemort was once a Slytherin,"_ conceded the hat. _"But do you have what is needed to live amongst snakes?"_

Feeling unsure, Mirage reached for its Master's presence in its mind.

" _Alright then,"_ acknowledged the hat, and then aloud:

"SLYTHERIN!" it shouted. Most of the students cheered.

When the sorting hat was removed from Mirage's head, it thought the stern witch's discontentment seemed deeper than before.

"Perfect!" exclaimed Dumbledore in his cheery voice. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Mirage! You may sit with your peers now."

Mirage walked to the Slytherin table, feeling slightly confused by what the hat had said but greatly proud of its Master's approval. The students greeted it with cautious smiles and nods. Mirage saw Draco Malfoy pat the bench beside him, inviting it to sit next to him, and so it did.

"Hullo," welcomed Draco, placing a hand on Mirage's shoulder. "I am sure you remember my name, and these," he gestured towards each in turn, "are Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. We will be your dorm-mates. All of us know who you are, so you can be sure none of us will mistreat you."

"You can trust us," said Crabbe, reaching for the sausages.

"This one is glad," answered Mirage, offering the coy smile people seemed to like the most.

The ones who were looking at its face stared.

"Are you part veela?" asked a girl whose name Mirage did not know.

"This one begs your pardon?" replied Mirage, mystified.

The girl lowered her eyes to Mirage's choker and smiled knowingly.

"I see," she said, and turned to speak with someone else.

"Pay her no mind," advised Draco. "She's a stupid bint."

Crabbe and Goyle nodded in unison.

"Master warned this one that people would not look highly upon this one's creature status."

"So you truly are part veela?" inquired Zabini.

"This one does not think so, no," said Mirage. "Rather, it does not understand why you would think such a thing."

"You speak funny," interrupted Goyle through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "Does our Lord make you?"

"What do you mean?"

"He means you say 'this one' rather than 'I' when referring to yourself," clarified Draco. "And because he's dense as a bludger, he can't understand why you would."

"Because this one is not its own, of course," explained Mirage patiently, looking in Goyle's direction. "This one is but a tool in its Master's hand."

"We're fine with that," said Zabini. "But you should consider changing it."

"Why?"

"The Gryffindors will take the piss," said Nott without looking up from a book he was reading. "They're all berks."

"They have no sense of honour," added Malfoy.

"Pure-bloods understand slavery for what it truly is," intervened a haughty-looking girl. "You may not be a true person, but if our Lord had a dog he esteemed, none of his followers would even _think_ about kicking it."

"That has to be the worst bloody metaphor I've had the misfortune of hearing in my life," quipped Nott.

"Shut up, you pillock!" snapped the girl, blushing. Some giggled under their breath.

"Pansy is half right, though," said Draco. "If you were, say, _Weasley's_ slave, you'd be ranked lower than a house elf."

Crabbe and Goyle laughed loudly.

"Who is Weasley?" asked Mirage.

"A Gryffindor bully," Zabini answered. "He and his sidekicks, Thomas and Finnigan, will seize every chance they get to make your life hell. Try not to walk the hallways alone."

Mirage turned to Draco with big, questioning green eyes.

"The male red-head," whispered Malfoy next to its ear while discretely pointing his fork in the boy's general direction.

The Weasley boy was guffawing at something, the kids nearby laughing as well.

"Why are Gryffindors so stupid?" wondered Draco aloud. "We could all be _good friends_ if they had a semblance of wits."

Everyone within hearing-range laughed and Mirage found it was smiling even though it didn't get the joke.

"You'll see, Mirage. I'll personally make sure you have fun this year."

Mirage was looking forward to it. Its hesitation was actually turning into excitement. There were kids sitting all around, devouring their food and laughing and speaking. Because it was so silent, the boys soon began turning more to one another and less to it, but Mirage did not mind. It was unaccustomed to this type of friendly banter, to kids speaking. Paying attention seemed easier for now.

There was something else Mirage was feeling, but this scared it a little. For the first time it found itself surrounded by people and feeling part of the group.

Was this what it meant to be oneself? It wondered. To not feel as if you were watching from afar but part of what was happening instead?

Mirage had sat through meetings and participated in raids with the Death Eaters, of course, but when it had, it had always been following its Master's direct orders.

Pondering on this for a few minutes while munching on its food, Mirage realized it was even now doing what its Master wanted it to. It was supposed to become one of the students and carry its Master's orders when the occasion presented itself. The fact that it got to choose what to eat and whom to speak to was only part of the job.

"How do you like Hogwarts so far, Mirage?" Nott asked suddenly, and Mirage realized he had been sort of silent as well.

"It is very… welcoming, this one thinks. The food is good and ―" it shut its mouth and frowned.

"Something wrong?"

"This one was about to say it liked it here, but…" Mirage eyed Nott cautiously. He was paying it attention, his book nowhere in sight, and his grey eyes did not reflect any malice. "It would have been disrespectful to my Master, to suggest this one enjoyed itself when he is not present."

"I find it hard to believe that our Lord would prohibit you from having fun," answered Nott, taking a portion of one of the desserts that had just appeared before them.

"He did not. Master is very kind to this one, but Master appreciates my being loyal to him at all times."

Nott seemed about to say something else, but Draco interrupted:

"Here, Mirage," he said, holding a spoonful of something next to its face. "Try the pumpkin crumble."

Mirage opened its mouth automatically and ate the morsel. It was quite good.

"Hmn, thanks, Draco."

Draco smirked smugly and turned away.

Nott had resumed his reading of the book when Mirage looked at him again, and it felt a bit bad for having missed the chance to speak with him some more. It seemed too rude to interrupt someone whom is reading though, so it ate its dessert silently.

A few minutes passed and the first students began standing from their places and going to their respective common rooms.

"We should be going," announced Draco, standing and placing his hand on Mirage's shoulder again. Crabbe and Goyle stood as well, as did most of the higher-level Slytherin students. "Wouldn't want to be late."

"Late?" questioned Mirage, standing itself.

The boys exchanged amused looks. Zabini winked.

"This one does not understand."

"You'll see," said Goyle as the group began walking towards the dungeons.

"I promised you'd have fun, didn't I?" said Draco, smirking meaningfully.

Mirage didn't know what to think.

As the students walked, they chatted and joked and laughed. Mirage was silent and felt a little awkward and apprehensive. Draco had not removed his hand from its shoulder, and Mirage was beginning to wonder whether the young blond was planning on fucking it or if it was just for guidance, or maybe as an effort to give some encouragement?

They reached the Dungeon entrance and Draco declaimed the password ( _Anguis!_ ) in a poetry-reader voice that made Mirage snigger.

The Dungeon was beautiful and stylish, was the first thing Mirage thought. There were enormous curved windows through which the teal-green waters of the Black Lake could be seen. Small and medium tables as well as couches were placed here and there, and the numerous dark green draperies that hung from the vaulted stone ceiling had been charmed to wave lazily, giving the whole room an underwater feel.

"Impressed?" asked Crabbe, noting Mirage's awe. "Wait till you see the bedroom."

The teens began moving the couches around, pushing several towards a corner. Mirage stood nearby, not knowing how it was expected to act.

"Come," invited Nott simply, sitting on a settee himself. Mirage joined him.

"What is happening?" it asked in a whisper.

"Party," murmured Nott back, pretending to read the book. "Better get used."

It made sense now, and Mirage felt its shoulders sag slightly in relief.

"So," said Draco, sprawling over one of the couches. "We cannot take the bevvies out yet. Exploding Snap?"

The agreement was voiced, and soon the group was gathered around a table. Mirage did not know how to play at first, but was rapidly getting the knack of it. The games were interrupted some twenty minutes later when Professor Snape stepped into the Dungeon.

"First years," he said. "I have to make a speech of sorts, so pay attention.

"You are now part of the Slytherin House. Be aware of what that means: Slytherin is family. More so than any of the other Houses. You shall never turn your backs on your housemates, for our strength lies in unity.

"Be proud, and carry yourselves accordingly. This House has much to offer, it is up to you whether you seize those opportunities or not.

"Trust one another, and turn to the prefects or myself if you are in trouble or need. Be welcome."

All as one, the Slytherins clapped and cheered their Head of House. Mirage realized they felt a deep respect for the professor.

Turning his head towards the corner at which the higher-level students were assembled, Snape added:

"Try not to do today what you will regret about tomorrow," after which he turned around and left the room in a billowing of black fabric.

"That's good 'ol Snape for you," commented Zabini, shuffling the card deck.

"Show-off," muttered Pansy Parkinson.

"So let's get this started," said Draco, gesturing for Crabbe and Goyle, who promptly stood and went to the dormitories.

Parkinson clapped excitedly and stood.

"We'll take care of the music, then. Let's go, Lys," she and a girl with long, curly hair left the room as well.

"Aren't you going to introduce the new boy?" asked a young man Mirage did not know.

"Right," addressed Draco, sitting straight and clearing his throat to get everyone's attention. "See here, this is Mirage. You may have seen him before, if you're Death Eaters. I don't really know much about him, but will take the liberty of inviting you all to speak to him if you want."

Smiles, nods and hand-waves were sent in its direction. Mirage smiled shyly back.

"Hello, Mirage," greeted a bloke with long straight hair, sitting across from it. "I'm Valerius Blishwick, seventh year," he offered Mirage his hand to shake. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise," replied Mirage, shaking the hand with as much confidence as it could muster; not accustomed to anyone greeting it formally. "How do you do?" it thought to add.

"How do you do?" answered Blishwick back, smiling. "Any thoughts on being placed in Slytherin?"

"This one likes it. Everyone seems friendly, and the atmosphere in general is very welcoming."

"It would be. Though you should know we are not as nice to the other Houses' members. Slytherins stick together, yes, but sometimes it feels as if everyone else is against us."

"Don't let Val misguide you," stepped in a girl with goth makeup. "Make sure you deserve it when they mess with you, or it won't be any fun."

"Dammit, Elena, you had to stick your nose in, didn't you?"

"Well duh," answered her, rolling her eyes and sitting in Blishwick's couch armrest. "Now, you say your name is Mirage?" she turned to it. "What sort of bloody name is that?"

"It's the one my Master gave me," replied Mirage simply. "May this one know yours?"

"Elena Coleman," she said dismissively. "And you mentioned a Master there, is that the reason you wear a collar?"

"You're being rude," warned Nott from somewhere behind his book.

"Better get used to it, newbie," she advised. "I don't make a habit out of being polite."

"Or… you can just ignore her, the way most of us do," remarked Blishwick, grabbing a beer from Goyle.

"Anyways," Coleman continued, ignoring them all herself. "You have a master, or so you say. Can you tell us some more?"

Mirage noticed the teens nearby were paying attention and pretending not to.

"The easiest way to explain it is saying this one is a slave," stated Mirage calmly.

"Whose?" asked a bespectacled boy.

"Lord Voldemort's," said Millicent Bulstrode with an air of self-importance.

Silence greeted the declaration.

Mirage was left alone after this. Nott was still sitting beside it, but kept submerged in his book, barely there. Draco approached Mirage once to offer it a drink, which it declined, and seemed to immediately lose interest. As soon as music began playing, the kids felt less inclined to laze in the corner and took to dancing and drinking and kissing.

Mirage watched them for maybe half an hour, feeling out of place.

"Don't know about you, but I'll go unpack," announced Nott suddenly, standing and heading towards the bedroom without a backward glance. Mirage decided that would probably be more productive than spying the Mulciber boy dance with two girls at the same time and followed him.

The dormitory was very similar to the Dungeon: spacious, with green-canopied beds and lush algae languidly moving to and fro at the other side of the windows. Mirage spotted its trunk next to one of the beds and made its way towards it. It touched the lock with its wand and muttered a word in parseltongue to open its lid. Carefully, with reverent hands, Mirage extracted a portrait and took it to the wall directly above its bed's headboard.

" _Colgare_ ," it ordered, holding the portrait by the frame against the wall at a convenient height. A jolt of something akin to electricity travelled up its arm.

"What are you doing?" asked Nott from somewhere behind it.

"This one is trying to place this here, but it won't stick," said Mirage, frowning.

"You cannot add portraits to the castle, it's dangerous," explained Nott. "I don't think she'll let you."

"This one is sure it can," countered Mirage determinedly. Breathing deeply, it closed its eyes and let down its occlumentic barriers. «What should this one do, Master?» it thought.

Voldemort's overwhelming presence filled its mind. Mirage moaned and shivered, not having felt it this strongly in years. It was dimly aware of someone asking after its wellbeing somewhere faraway but could not concentrate on the voice; its Master the only thing in its mind at the moment.

" _Can't she see it's me?"_ pondered Voldemort, seeing through Mirage's eyes. _"Raise your wand again, pet. Use something dark."_

" _Adherebunt aeternum!_ " enchanted Mirage, pressing its wand-tip to the ornate frame. Hogwarts' magic recoiled at the sheer force of the spell, pushing back a second later but unable to counter Mirage's dark energy.

" _Well done, pet. You please Master."_

Mirage sat panting on the bed, admiring the painting in the wall while re-constructing its mental shields.

"What just happened?" asked Nott.

"Oh, nothing much," disregarded Mirage, smirking. "Just adding some decorations."

In the painting, a basilisk coiled and hissed.


	4. Dos and Don'ts

_**For the disclaimer, see Prologue.**_

 _ **A/N:**_ _I'd like to clarify that the opinions expressed by the character about events and other characters are not necessarily my own._

 _ **The spells used on this chapter come mostly from E. A. Underwood's "The Complete Encyclopaedia of Wizarding Charms, Hexes, Jinxes and Spells"**_

* * *

 **Chapter Three: Dos and don'ts**

"Is everyone going to Transfigurations after this?" asked Zabini, studying his timetable.

"So it seems," answered Draco, spying Mirage's over its shoulder. "You surely take very few classes," he noted. "Are you planning on dropping out next year like Goyle?"

"This one cannot know yet," said Mirage over its cup of tea. "That depends on whether my Master needs me here or not."

"Blimey, sounds like there's very little you can decide on your own," commented Crabbe.

Mirage shrugged through a mouthful of scrambled eggs, nonchalant.

Nott reached out and snatched Mirage's timetable.

"What? You're not taking Herbology?"

"No," said Mirage. "This one finds it too boring for its linking."

"You're clowning," Zabini quipped. "Have you ever seen Devil's Snare? Mandrakes? Bloody Venus _Mantrap_?"

Draco shuddered dramatically.

Mirage chuckled.

"This one guesses 'boring' is not exactly it… it is just that other subjects as Charms and Potions feel more… _immediately useful_ , this one thinks."

"I reckon I understand what you mean," replied Zabini. "Depending on where you work, Herbology could be accessory."

"Right," interfered Nott, raising an eyebrow. "But how will you be any good at potions without at least a basic knowledge of the plant's properties?"

"That is a fairly good point," pointed Draco. "Professor Snape will have your head if you mess up in his NEWT-level class."

Mirage smirked and said nothing.

Soon afterwards the group began walking towards the Transfigurations classroom.

"Did you manage to get all the glassware for Alchemy?" Nott asked Draco.

"Of course," he answered in a tone that implied suggesting otherwise was an offense.

"Alchemy?" queried Mirage. "This one did not know it was part of the curriculum."

"It's not," said Draco. "But NEWT-level students can request it. This year it just so happened that there was enough people interested that the Board got someone to teach it."

"I bet your father had nothing to do with it," deadpanned Nott.

Draco hmmmed haughtily.

"Is there any way I could sign in for the class?" asked Mirage.

"Wouldn't know," said Zabini.

"You should ask professor Snape," recommended Draco.

"Yeah. If anyone can intimidate people into doing things it's him," stepped in Goyle.

Everyone nodded their agreement.

Upon reaching the classroom, they all filled in and took a seat. Mirage shared Nott's desk and met with no complaints for doing so.

"It's so good Transfigurations is not double at NEWT-level," commented Zabini out loud.

"I hear you," answered Crabbe. "Damn Ravenclaws wouldn't shut the fuck up."

"Was it that bad?"

"They're just so desperate to spew all the books they've swallowed."

"Disgusting," agreed Nott.

"What is disgusting, Mr. Nott?" asked professor McGonagall, who had just entered the room through a side door near the front of the classroom.

"Bubotuber pus, professor," replied Nott without missing a bit.

Mirage lowered its head and bit its lip to keep from sniggering.

The professor did not seem amused. In fact, she seemed tempted to press the issue, but apparently decided against it.

"Welcome to your first NEWT-level Transfigurations class," she began seriously. "As this is an advanced class, I will explain this year's methodology just once. Take notes," she cleared her throat and waited for everyone to be ready to write down whatever she was about to say. "The first term will be dedicated to animal transfiguration. Spring Term will be for herbaceous transfiguration, and Summer Term we'll work on hybrid transfiguration.

"You will present two practical exams, one at midterm and one by the end of it. There will also be an investigation project, to be delivered two weeks before the holidays. Questions?"

She explained they would each be given a rat to work with, and that part of their responsibility was to ensure the animals did not die due to the transformations.

"Each death will cost your House twenty-five points," she warned.

After everyone had their rat, the rest of the class was spent customizing it so they could recognize theirs for every session.

All in all, Mirage enjoyed itself.

They had a couple of free hours before lunch and, much to Draco's dismay, Nott offered to show Mirage the way to the library, which it accepted, so it spent a good hour perusing the tomes. By lunchtime it made its way back to the Great Hall to get reunited with its classmates.

"What do we have next?" asked Crabbe.

"Double Defence with the Gryffindors," muttered Draco.

"Do you reckon we'll get a decent professor this year?"

"You're flogging a dead horse," scoffed Nott.

"To tell you the truth, I don't know why we bother taking it at all," said Malfoy.

"It's been utter shite since the werewolf."

"The werewolf?"

"We had a werewolf for Defence in our third year," explained Zabini. "Weird fella."

"He had a quarrel with professor Snape, or something," added Goyle. "And after that professor Snape began doing his damnedest to get him sacked."

"We never knew the particulars," said Crabbe. "But apparently he went feral and endangered some Hufflepuff's lives."

"How so? Was someone killed?"

"Dumbledore covered it all," said Draco disdainfully. "They said Lupin was a friend of his. Though it never made it past the gossip, and no student abandoned the school; injured, dead or otherwise. Still the werewolf left. It was the right thing to do, if you ask me."

"Wow. Sounds exciting!" said Mirage.

Nott snorted.

"Fucking stupid Gryffindors blamed professor Snape for it all," he said with a sneer.

"Why?"

"Lupin favoured them," complained Goyle resentfully.

Mirage soaked up some bread in its soup and chewed thoughtfully.

Some minutes later the group stood and headed towards the Defence classroom.

As they walked, Mirage began feeling oddly antsy.

The professor was a very tall woman with short cropped hair and a no-nonsense, almost military air to herself.

"Welcome students," she said. "My name is Harvey Slinkhard and I will be your Defence instructor.

"In light of recent developments― and don't look at me like that: everyone knows what I'm talking about― the main focus of this class will be in combat.

"It is my understanding that you've had a less than desirable instruction on the matter thus far, but don't worry, we'll go easy at first.

"Your evaluation for the course will be based on my own perspective of your abilities by the end of the year.

"Now, I want to get an idea of how skilful every one of you is, so I'll will pair you up. Those of you who have had previous combating and/or duelling experience, please raise your hands."

Mirage, Draco, Pansy and a couple of Gryffindors did.

"Good. Step forward. Now, may I know your name?" the professor asked Draco.

"Draco Malfoy," sneered Draco arrogantly.

"Mr. Malfoy, you'll encounter Mr…" she gestured towards the redhead.

"Weasley, Ronald Weasley."

"Mr. Weasley. And you are?"

"Seamus Finnigan."

"Thank you. Mr. Finnigan will go against…?"

"Mirage."

"Good. And last but not least, Miss…?"

"Parkinson."

"Miss Parkinson will fight…?"

"Neville Longbottom."

"There you go. Now, please wait for me while I pair everyone else."

She walked around the room reading a list and teaming up one Gryffindor against one Slytherin.

"Would you look at that," commented Draco while the professor was distracted with the rest of the students. "I get to tear Weasley into a thousand pieces in my first class! I have a feeling this year will be memorable."

"We'll see about that, Malfoy. There will be no nails left for you to manicure when I'm done with you."

"I'm positively frightened," Draco's voice dripped sarcasm.

Mirage eyed the Gryffindors in slight apprehension. Seamus Finnigan appeared to be an aggressive and solid opponent. In addition, he was watching Mirage with a strange mixture of disdain and disgust that did not bode well for it. Add that to the anxiety that it was already feeling and Mirage's wand hand fingers began to twitch.

"So this is the new addition to the snake's lair, isn't it?" asked Finnigan, elbowing Weasley.

"Right. What's wrong with your robes, mate? Didn't you find a place where they sold manly ones?" scorned the redhead.

Mirage looked down at its clothing and blushed without understanding why. There was no reason to feel ashamed, it told itself with eyes still downcast, it would dress however its Master wanted it to.

"I'm surprised you are familiar with the concept of buying robes, Weasel," mocked Draco. "Seeing that you've probably never worn anything previously unused in your whole life."

Ronald Weasley reddened furiously and stepped forward until he was nearly touching his nose to Draco's.

"Wrong time to try to ridicule me, Malfoy. You'll be snivelling by the time I leave this classroom."

Draco appeared unimpressed.

"Sure, Weasel."

"Just how many Unforgivables have you cast in your life?" asked Mirage, trying to return the gesture by defending Draco.

"Are you serious?" replied Weasley, aghast.

"You sicken me, freakish Slytherin scum!" spat Finnigan.

Draco smirked knowingly.

"Well?" he pushed. "How many?"

"Silence," muttered Pansy Parkinson, approaching the group discretely while the professor walked to the centre of the classroom.

"I will call on the pairs one by one," professor Slinkhard explained while drawing a wide circle around herself with her wand. "You will come and step inside this shielding ward with your assigned couple. To help me illustrate the mechanics I'll call the first of you; that is," she checked a piece of parchment. "Mr. Baxter and Miss Bulstrode, please come forth."

When the two of them were there the professor stepped out of the circle and said:

"Now, do you know the shielding charm? Protego?"

The two of them nodded.

"I will explain anyway, in case there is someone that does not.

"What you have to do is say the word _Protego_ while slashing your wand in front of you like this," she demonstrated the motion. "Now, just a little hint: for the shield to work to its full potential, I would recommend you visualize it in your mind's eye. The clearer the image you picture in your mind, the sturdier your shield will be.

"If there is anyone that has never cast this charm, please practice before your turn comes," she turned to the two students inside the circle again. "What I expect the two of you to do is throw hexes and jinxes at each other and try to fend off your partner's with the shielding charm.

"I expect you have learned a few jinxes over the years. We'll study incapacitating spells in future classes. For now, I will ask that you don't try to seriously harm you opponent, understood?" the students nodded. "The first one that manages a definite hit will be the winner, and their House will receive two points as reward," murmurs of interest were heard. The professor smiled. "Now, my philosophy is that taking turns is no help whatsoever, as in real-life combat you do not get breaks between actual attacks. So I will count to three and you will start. Ready?

"One… Two… Three!"

Millicent and Otto both began by throwing up a shielding charm. A beat later Otto Baxter jumped to the side and shouted:

" _Anserrus!"_

Millicent had already raised her wand to point at Baxter, but the spell hit her square in the chest.

"HONK!" she cried, red faced. Her wand arm trembled.

The whole class erupted into laughter.

"Two points for Gryffindor," declared the professor without a hint of a smile. "Congratulations, Mr. Baxter." She waited for the laughter to die down and continued: "This was an excellent demonstration of what you must do. It was over quite fast, but the idea was clear enough." Pointing her wand at a mortified Millicent she cast Finite Incantatem. "The next pair will be..." she studied the student list again. "Miss Lavender Brown versus Mr. Vincent Crabbe. Please step inside the circle."

The two students walked to the centre of the classroom and stood facing one another, determination written all over their faces.

"Once again, on the count of three. One… Two… Three!"

This time Lavender Brown threw up a shield, but Crabbe attacked directly.

" _Arretica!"_ he bellowed, and a net burst out of his wand.

The net fell over Brown, who tumbled backwards with an "Oof", her shield dispelling.

" _Succlamo!"_ incanted then Crabbe.

Lavender screamed in pain.

"Stop!" called professor Slinkhard. "What do you think you're doing, Mr. Crabbe? I specifically told you ―"

"To hit our opponent with a hex or jinx," he cut her. "And that's what I did. Reckoned the net didn't count."

There was a stunned silence.

"I am fine, professor," said Brown from underneath the net, still struggling with it. "I felt no pain whatsoever, just the urge to scream."

"I take it you didn't know the jinx?" intervened Nott in a bored drawl.

"I did not," admitted the professor seriously. "Would any of you explain the effect to me?"

A bushy-haired girl from Gryffindor raised her hand.

"Succlamo, the pained scream jinx: compels the target to whine or yelp in pain. The person is subjected to no damage," she recited.

Next to itself, Mirage heard Draco Malfoy groan.

"I see," conceded professor Slinkhard. "I must apologize, Mr. Crabbe. That incantation was unknown to me. Two points for Slytherin."

"What!" someone whose voice Mirage did not recognize whispered angrily. "Points _for_? That must be a _dark_ jinx!"

"Now," said the professor. "What I see here is that you deceived me: so far the two couples that have fought were formed by students that claimed not to have any duelling skills, but Mr. Baxter showed fluidity I've barely ever seen on rookies; and Mr. Crabbe attacked with a very clever net, not to mention a spell that I had never known of before. Any excuses you'd like to make?"

"Otto plays chaser in our quidditch team," offered Neville Longbottom. "He's a great flyer. Moving fast must come naturally to him."

"I just sidestepped, professor. Doesn't look like a great deal to me."

"You led me to believe I had to work with you from the very basics, I'm just pleasantly surprised," said Slinkhard thoughtfully. "Well, doesn't matter, really. It is positive, in truth.

"Now, I will make a slight change in the dynamics, for competition's sake. It is my understanding that these two Houses are usually pressing each other's buttons, correct? So I want to encourage you to show me the extent of your abilities. Once again, just try not to cause any severe damage. Use jinxes, preferably. And by the end of the class the House with the more wins will get an additional fifteen points, how's that sound?"

The next encounter was Fay Dunbar against Gregory Goyle. It was the worst so far, thought Mirage. Both were slow and sloppy, and fired their hexes like they didn't even mean to hit one another, so off-target they flew by.

Jinx after jinx after jinx collided against the protective ward and the observing student's attention began to drift off.

"Mirage," Pansy Parkinson whispered next to its ear.

"Yes?"

"I heard what you said before. Do not even think about throwing an Unforgivable, you would get in great trouble."

"Thank you for the warning," replied Mirage honestly. "But this one was not thinking of doing so."

"Good. Please don't be offended, I just wanted to make sure."

"No offense taken, Miss Parkinson," Mirage smiled.

"It's Pansy, you prat."

Over ten minutes into the duel, Goyle managed to connect a questionably-aimed Wibulus with Dunbar's left leg, thus making her drop the shield and wobble about on unsteady legs.

" _Cornifors!_ " pronounced Goyle, seizing her moment of distraction. Not attempting to maintain a shield of his own, he succeeded in hitting Dunbar with the jet of light. A pair of horns sprouted from her head.

"Very good, Mr. Goyle," praised the professor. "Two points for Slytherin."

Goyle returned to his comrades with a goofy smile and received a few pats in the shoulder.

"The next pair is Mr. Seamus Finnigan versus Mr― I mean, Mirage," announced Slinkhard. "Please take your places."

As it walked forward, Mirage got the impression that Finnigan was not going to play fair and its forgotten restlessness came back full force.

"I'll strip you off that ridiculous dress," hissed Finnigan, too low for anyone else to hear, "and we'll see what good you are with your arse exposed for everyone to see."

Mirage pretended not to hear the threat.

"As you both confessed to having some previous experience," spoke Slinkhard. "I expect quite a showdown. Ready? One… Two… Three!"

" _Vesta Evanesca!_ " yelled Finnigan at once.

Mirage rapidly stepped to its left and the spell passed by.

" _Gelesco!_ " it countered without missing a bit. Finnigan raised a shield in a split second.

Mirage felt the distinctive rush of adrenaline begin coursing through its body.

" _Bombarda! Bombarda! Bombarda!_ " it cast repeatedly, each explosion resonating powerfully against Finnigan's weakening shield. The small hairs at its nape stood and Mirage ducked instinctively.

" _Stupefy!_ "

The spell was powerful, Mirage could tell, as it sailed above its head. Rolling to the side, it incanted:

" _Everte Statum!_ " Finnigan's shield was again in place, but the sheer force of the spell sent him reeling backwards nonetheless.

Mirage did not expect him to recover so quickly, and as it stood from its position on the floor, Finnigan launched another Vesta Evanesca in its direction. It managed to get out of the spell's way in time not to be hit directly, but the long flowy fabric of its robe received the impact, and his clothing immediately vanished.

Finnigan was left gaping at the sight of Mirage's leather harness.

Unfazed, Mirage pointed its wand to his face.

" _Epistaxus!_ " it cast. Finnigan dropped his wand with a yelp and moved both hands to cover his lower face. Blood streamed down his chins and between his fingers.

"Well done, Mirage," said the professor calmly. "Two points for Slytherin. Can you summon your robes or should I?"

"This one is fine, professor Slinkhard," replied Mirage coolly, flicking its wand. Catching the summoned garments it walked smoothly to its previous position amongst its dorm-mates.

The students were divided between staring and looking away as it stepped into its trouser, threw the robe on and deftly fastened them both.

Ronald Weasley was the first one to recover.

"Did you just say 'well done'?" he yelled at the professor indignantly. "I saw the bloody cheater _hurt_ Seamus with my own eyes!"

"I suggest you watch that tone, Mr. Weasley," warned Slinkhard icily. "I know very well what we all saw and it was Mr. Finnigan trying to humiliate Mirage, or did you not notice he cast the undressing hex _twice_?"

"Well I don't see the bloody tosser bleeding!"

"Ten points from Gryffindor for language," said the professor. Then, pointing her wand at Finnigan (who was still clutching his bleeding nose) added: " _Finite Incantatem_ ," upon which the blood flow stopped. "Watch your tongue, Mr. Weasley. I won't tolerate any form of discrimination in my class. You are here to learn how to fight, and fight this Slytherin student did. I don't consider the hex he used a harmful one."

Weasley flushed with fury and sent Mirage a hateful glare.

 _Later_ , he mouthed.

"Bloody git," whispered Nott, placing a hand on Mirage's shoulder. "You were brilliant," he told it.

"Yeah," agreed Crabbe. "Taught the eejit a lesson, you did."

"Merlin's shoes, Mirage!" shrieked Daphne Greengrass. "Should have told us you had such a _well-hidden_ secret!"

The girls burst out into giggles.

"This one begs your pardon?"

"That gorgeous piece of an arse!", "The tattoos!", "Did you see his thighs?" they all spoke at once and giggled again. Mirage noticed even the Gryffindor girls were giving it _the look_.

"Goodness' sake, women, control yourselves!" scolded the professor.

Another bout of titters was heard. Mirage looked down at its robes, puzzled.

"Is it because of the harness?" it asked Nott, who opened his mouth but shut it again uncertainly.

"The next couple will be Miss Hermione Granger versus Miss Daphne Greengrass," announced Slinkhard, sending a last reproving look in the Slytherin girls' direction.

"Later," muttered Nott, reminding Mirage of Weasley's threat.

Greengrass' combat style was too polished to be effective, Mirage noted. She held her wand delicately, as one would a fine tea cup. Her spell inventory was also quite limited, it seemed, as she kept using the babbling jinx (Ablattero), Tarantallegra and Wibulus (Jelly-legs).

Hermione Granger had a vast inventory of charms; even some Mirage had never heard before. It was not enough of a point in her favour, though. She was much too nervous, which was apparent in the white-knuckled grip she had on her wand, her rigid and unpractised stance, the sweat that was forming in her forehead and her utter lack of dodging movements.

Greengrass seemed a lot more at ease, but fought like a lady, and after three minutes or so of her waltzing around, Granger hit the side of her head with a Cantis hex. Immediately, the Slytherin girl adopted an opera pose and began singing in a soft and birdlike voice:

" _Not all thou said wast true,  
oh, my love, I never lied to thou!_

 _The one who is't dead shalt remain so,  
upon thy grave, loveth, I sing these verses!"_

The Slytherins clapped over the professor's call of "Two points for Gryffindor" while Greengrass returned to her group walking regally.

The next contenders were Neville Longbottom and Pansy Parkinson. Pansy won so easily that Mirage wondered why he'd raised his hand to begin with. Her coup de grace was a bogies curse that had the poor chap asking for permission to withdraw to the loo.

"You may go to the Infirmary if you prefer, Mr. Longbottom," granted professor Slinkhard. "And take Miss Dunbar with you, I don't know a counter-spell for those horns."

The next fight was Eloise Midgen versus Theodore Nott.

Nott's hands were shaking, but after he had his first shield up he cast a Complectus charm to strengthen the grip he had on his wand.

Midgen's shield was sturdy and resisted every one of Nott's attacks, but her aim was poor and she had not made any noteworthy attacks.

Nott won after conjuring a snake, which made Eloise screech and turn tail. To add insult to injury, he hit her with a Pretificus Totalus the moment she tried to run away. By the time the professor stepped in to vanish the reptile and undo her immobility the girl was a nervous wreck, just on the verge of bursting to tears.

Draco Malfoy found this hilarious.

"Two points for Slytherin," declared Slinkhard. "And before anyone dares complaining, let me assure you that it was a perfectly valid strategy. Miss Midgen," she addressed her directly. "You should try to overcome that fear, as it could seriously handicap you against a real-life opponent." Then, turning to Draco she added, "If you don't cease that laughter, Mr. Malfoy, I will have to ask you to retire from my classroom."

Pansy waved her wand and muttered a word and Draco instantly sobered.

Professor Slinkhard proceeded to call Parvati Patil and Lysandra Travers to the centre of the classroom.

Patil's superior skill immediately stood out against Travers'. She held herself with a lot more confidence, was faster and magically stronger. For all her princess-like beauty, Travers could not compete with the Indian girl and was quickly reached by a Confundus charm.

The next fight was Blaise Zabini against Dean Thomas.

Thomas' first move was to throw a rapid disarming spell, but Zabini had opted for conjuring a shield so it bounced right off. Blaise kept his shield up through a series of mild hexes, and the moment Thomas' attacks became less continuous he countered:

" _Emicto!_ " he cast, but Thomas ducked and the Pee Jinx missed him. By the time Thomas had thrown another Expelliarmus, Zabini's shield was once again in place.

There was a new round of Blaise simply defending and Thomas only attacking. The latter seemed to be losing his patience, though.

"What's up, Zabini? Can't fight like a man?"

"What about yourself?" replied Blaise from behind his shield. "Can't fight like a gent?"

" _Diffindo!_ " shouted Thomas in response. Zabini's eyebrows raised and just a split second later his shield shattered with the sound of glass breaking and he fell back on his arse. " _Expelliarmus!_ " Thomas added. Zabini's wand went flying from his hand and he was pushed back, his head thudding against the floor on impact.

"Ow!" he complained.

"That is quite enough, Mr. Thomas," reproached professor Slinkhard with a deep frown. "Two points for Gryffindor."

Zabini picked up his wand and walked to his dorm-mates, rubbing the back of his skull with a grimace.

"You did well," Mirage praised him.

"Thanks, mate."

"It seems it's time for the last match," said Slinkhard. "It will be between Mr. Draco Malfoy and Mr. Ronald Weasley.

"So far Slytherin is winning with five victories to four. If Mr. Weasley wins this round, I'll give each House seven points and we'll be done. Do your best, gentlemen."

Draco and Weasley stood facing one another and the hatred in their eyes did nothing to ease Mirage's edginess.

"After I curse your weasel-arse into next week remember never to mess with Mirage again, _Ron_ ," said Draco contemptuously.

"What? Defending your girlfriend?" retorted the redhead.

"Stop that, boys," warned the professor in a hard voice. "If you have a dispute this is the perfect situation to settle it. I expect a fair encounter, all things said.

"On my count: one… Two… Three!"

Draco threw a nonverbal spell so quickly it hit Weasley before his shield was up. To Mirage's observant eyes it looked as if the aiming was intentional, because the light hit Weasley's right shin so casually it could not be a real coincidence. Weasley gasped behind his shield and his ears reddened, but made no comment.

" _Lacrimo!_ " he cast instead.

Draco easily sidestepped.

"You'll have to do better than that, Weasel," he said. " _Tarantallegra!_ " he pointed at the Gryffindor's head, but while he raised his shield higher, Draco crouched and cast Devesto so quickly Mirage had to marvel at his incredible aim. The spell hit Weasley's unprotected elbow, and he was hauled to the side and back awkwardly while his outer robe tore itself open and went to land some five meters away from him.

Draco had a sadistic smile upon his lips that reminded Mirage of Lucius' own.

"What are you playing at, Malfoy!?" demanded Weasley, humiliated when the absence of his robe revealed the effect of the first unvoiced hex Draco had thrown at him: his trousers had become skin-tight and hugged his knees, crotch and arsecheeks snuggly.

" _Adesco Membrum!_ " was Draco's merciless answer. Those who knew the hex gasped and Ronald Weasley cried out as his cock became instantly erect within the confines of his suffocating trousers, its outline perfectly clear for all to see. Weasley tried to cover himself with his left hand and pointed his wand at Draco, his face crazed with the many emotions that were flowing through him at the moment.

" _CONFRINGO!_ " he shouted. Draco raised up a shield in time, but the spell hit it in the side, its force causing him to lose footing and tumble down.

"ENOUGH!" roared the professor. She Accio-ed Weasley's robe and handed it to him. "Go to the Infirmary, Mr. Weasley. Now."

With a last glower the redhead abandoned the room in stiff strides.

"The Slytherin House has won," dictated the professor over the student's murmurs. "You are dismissed. Read chapters one to three of _Wizarding Tips That Could Save Your Life_ and I'll see you next Monday.

"Mr. Thomas, Mr. Malfoy, stay behind," she added dangerously.

The group made their exit still talking about the incident. The Gryffindors were louder in their displeasure.

"I can't believe that _sadist_ Malfoy did that!"

"And I thought leather-boy was violent!"

"The professor is a bitch; she clearly favours those dirty Death Eaters!"

"We'll get back to you on this!" Finnigan shouted after the Slytherins. Crabbe showed him his middle finger in response.

"That was a bit harsh, right?" commented Mirage in a small voice.

"Sort of, yeah," conceded Zabini.

"He deserved it, the filthy blood-traitor," spat Pansy.

"How so?" asked Mirage.

"You've been here, what? Two days?" replied Millicent Bulstrode angrily. "You've no idea what those fuckers are capable of."

"Milly's suffered through five years of abuse," agreed Greengrass.

"He had it coming," voiced Crabbe.

"Draco did nothing to him," said Nott. "Shed his robe, tightened his trousers, made him hard? I would recover."

The rest of the group nodded their agreement. Mirage realized it had had it a lot worse in some of his sessions with Mr. Malfoy Sr. and its doubts evacuated.

"You have the truth of it," it said. "This one would easily recover."

"No doubt of that," remarked Pansy. "I would have died of shame if someone had stripped me while I wore _leather_ underneath my robe!"

"Yeah," agreed Nott. "What in Merlin's bollocks' name are you wearing that for, though?"

Mirage shrugged like it was no big deal.

"This one likes the feel of leather against its skin. It just so happened that this one chose to wear one of its harnesses today instead of a pair of shorts."

"And isn't it too raspy on the ol' tackle?" asked Goyle in astonishment.

"Maybe, wouldn't know. This one is accustomed to the feel."

"You looked absolutely edible!" exclaimed Greengrass. "Would you let us see more?"

"Daphne, take hold of yourself!" reprimanded Travers.

"Don't play coy, Lys, I know you liked it as much as I did!"

"That's no reason to pester the poor guy!"

"It's fine, Miss Greengrass, this one can show you some other time. This one also has other leather garments… quite a few, truth be told. My Master also likes to see me parade while wearing them, so this one understands."

There were a few seconds of stunned silence and then the girls burst out into giggles.

Nott covered his face with both hands.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _Let me know if you'd rather I included a list of spells and their effects at the end of the chapter so that I can do it in the future._


	5. Snakes Know Better

**_For the disclaimer, see Prologue._**

 **Chapter Four: Snakes Know Better**

Severus Snape sat in his favourite chair by the fireplace, nursing a tumbler of firewhisky and telling himself he did not hate his job. It was an exercise in futility, of course, as he had sworn never to lie to himself again after the Evans girl fiasco.

Not that he had had any success.

He closed his eyes and leaned back, breathed deeply…

"There is a boy at the entrance, Mr. Snape."

His rest was interrupted by a voice Severus recognized as the guarding portrait's.

"Who is it? 'm not in the mood," he muttered without opening his eyes. His head throbbed.

"I don't know him," answered the portrait.

"Probably a first year who already wet his pants," mumbled Snape, standing and walking to the entrance of his chamber. Upon opening the portrait, he found himself facing Mirage, who was looking radiant as ever, dressed in a silky bottle green nightgown.

"Good evening, Professor Snape," he said. "This one wondered if you could spare a few minutes of your time?"

"Yes," said Snape, self-consciously rearranging his robes. "Do come in."

Mirage stepped in slowly and gracefully: pure feline grace. Severus felt a pang of guilt.

"May I offer you something to drink?"

"Tea would be marvellous, if possible."

"Indeed. Make yourself comfortable," Severus pointed towards the seats by the fireplace and called a house-elf.

"Thank you."

He turned to resume his sitting and ignored Mirage's gaze as it swept over the surroundings. Fortunately, the half-empty tumbler of firewhisky was replaced by a tea tray in a blink. Severus sat across Mirage and watched him prepare his tea.

Such a beautiful boy.

"How was your first day?"

Mirage hesitated and looked coyly at Severus from under his dark lashes.

Heat pooled in Severus' guts.

"This one would beg that you do not misunderstand its words, but this one enjoyed itself."

"How would I misunderstand?" asked Severus, sipping from his cup distractedly.

Suddenly intense, Mirage burst:

"Is it not betraying its Master? This one, having fun?"

Snape lowered his cup. Poor Mirage seemed about to cry. Gods, to think of all that had been done to this child.

"Mirage, listen carefully," Severus said slowly and clearly. Upon hearing the command, the child sobered and looked up. "It is not incorrect for you to have fun with your peers. Your master appreciates your being healthy and happy, is that not so?"

"It is so, Professor Snape."

"Indeed. Worry not. You are doing well. When I report to Our Lord I will speak favourably of you and the progress of your mission."

"Thank you, Professor." Mirage smiled sweetly, and Severus had the sudden urge to pull him into his arms.

"Are you taking your special medicine?" he asked.

"Yes. Master said to take it every Monday and Thursday, twice if there is a full moon."

Severus frowned. That was a bit too much. He would have to ask the Dark Lord about that high dosage.

"I see."

Mirage drank his tea silently, a soft smile curving his lips.

Severus swallowed his guilt.

"May I know to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"This one is sorry!" said Mirage, blushing. "This one wanted to ask about the Alchemy class."

"Ah, so you heard. Yes, Draco discovered Lucius took Alchemy while being a Hogwarts student and decided to add it to his own curriculum as well. He started a movement last year and the Board of Governors, no doubt aided by Lucius himself, approved the motion and appointed a professor."

"Is there any way this one can take the class?"

Severus appraised Mirage briefly.

"I would need to speak with both the Headmaster and professor Lorenz, but I'll let you know as soon as I have an answer for you. Is that acceptable?"

"Very much so, professor, thank you!"

"You seem excited," Severus noted.

Mirage blushed again and lowered its gaze, but said nothing.

"You should go to bed," said Severus after a few seconds.

Mirage stood and looked around.

"And where would the bedroom be, sir?"

Severus opened his mouth to make a scathing retort, but was cut short when Mirage began undoing the knot at his waist.

"Don't," he said, raising a hand in a halting gesture. Mirage stopped, blinked, blushed and seemed to shrink.

"This one is so sorry," he said, sounding so dejected Severus immediately felt like an arse. "Should this one go now?"

For a moment, Severus entertained the idea that he could ask the child to stay. That he could kiss those soft lips and relieve himself in his supple body.

The guilt that overrode this idea was crushing.

"You have done nothing wrong," he said at last. "I have a headache tonight. It's just not the best of times."

"This one understands," said Mirage without looking up.

Silence fell between them.

"Come, I'll take you to the dormitories."

* * *

Mirage awoke to Draco Malfoy yanking open the drapes of its bed.

"Are you seriously still in bed? We're almost ready to leave for breakfast, get up!"

Mirage blinked confusedly, unaccustomed to anyone waking it up before.

"Yes," it said groggily.

Draco puffed and left Mirage's bedside.

Mirage stood up and walked to the loo. Washed its face, combed its hair and brushed its teeth. When he returned to the dorm, the rest of the boys seemed to have gone already.

"Why are you naked?" asked then someone, startling Mirage. It was Nott, who sat silently in a nook by a window, reading a book.

"This one has not dressed," said Mirage, but Nott did not answer.

Going to its wardrobe, Mirage strapped on a harness and wore the rest of its clothes over it.

"Ready?" asked then Nott.

"Yes."

They both walked silently out of the dorms.

"Why are you still wearing that blasted… _thing_?" spurt Nott after a while.

"My harness?"

"I reckon you could call it that."

"Do you not like it?" asked Mirage, to which Nott could only stare, mouth agape. "Miss Greengrass, Miss Travers, Pansy and the others said it was 'cute'. My Master and Mr. Ma― some other men who have fucked this one have also found it to their liking."

If anything, Nott looked even more flabbergasted than before. After a moment he seemed to compose himself and grabbed Mirage by and arm, pulling it towards a dusty tapestry a little further along the hallway.

Mirage eyed Nott in apprehension as they neared the dusty cloth, but upon reaching it, instead of colliding nose-first with the wall, they passed through it, as if it was an illusion, and found themselves in a dark alcove just barely larger than a broom closet.

"Listen here," Nott whispered angrily. Mirage could feel his breath in its face. "Weren't you taught it is bloody _inappropriate_ to speak of sex in public?"

"No," answered Mirage honestly. "Is it?"

"Yes! For fuck's sake! Don't ever say there's men who've fucked you!"

"Why?"

Nott huffed in exasperation.

"People will take you for a shirt-lifter, that's why!" he was almost yelling now, which Mirage found fascinating, as he was still trying to be discreet.

"That is a derogatory term for men who feel attracted to other men, is it not?"

"Bloody hell, will you get a hold! Yes! Yes it is!"

"So what's the matter?"

Nott sputtered incoherently.

"This one does like men," Mirage continued. "It also likes to be fucked. This one can refrain from making any mentions of it, if it bothers Mr. Nott, but this one does not worry about what others will say. This one knows how to defend itself."

"You…"

"Thank you, Mr. Nott," Mirage smiled sweetly at him, although it knew Nott could not see it in the darkness of the alcove. "This one understands you tell me this because you worry other kids will make fun of this one, but worry not. This one is fine."

"Theo," said Nott awkwardly. "You should call me Theo."

Mirage beamed.

"Breakfast?" it asked, not understanding why Theo was so tense.

Nodding, Theo guided Mirage out of the alcove and to the Great Hall. It was late, so most of the students had already left. The sixth year Slytherins, however, were heatedly debating something in their usual seats.

"It's old-fashioned!" exclaimed Draco, "So of course it's perfectly fine!"

"You are just saying that because your parents' marriage was arranged," retorted Pansy.

"I don' see why being old makes it wrong," said Goyle, defending Draco's point.

"It's not because it's old," said Bulstrode. "It's because everyone should be free to choose their own partner."

"That don't make it wrong," insisted Goyle.

"Are you seriously discussing arranged marriages," snorted Theo, taking a seat. Mirage sat beside him.

"Yes," said Lysandra Travers. "We're debating whether they're fashionable."

Mirage piled food onto its plate in silence. It was very much not informed about marriages in general.

"Who's talking about fashion?" asked Daphne Greengrass. "There's this something about them―"

"Right! They're a form of slavery!"

Pansy looked at Mirage suddenly and blushed. Everyone else fell silent.

Mirage fought the urge to stand and go somewhere else and concentrated on its tea instead.

Crabbe cleared his throat.

"He doesn't mind, does he?"

Nobody answered. Mirage began eating, wondering what to say to restore the easy atmosphere.

"Mirage," began Theo in a diplomatic tone. "You know you're a slave, right?"

"Yes," said Mirage plainly. The rest of the group was pointedly not looking at it from the corner of their eyes.

"Does it bother you?"

"No."

"Right. So I propose we settle this now, don't you all agree?" he addressed the whole of the group. "We all have questions that have been making us slip and talk nonsense. The other Houses also have questions. Some of us have been asked already, and we don't quite know what to say."

Mirage looked at Theo inquiringly.

"You can ask," it said. "This one will answer as best it can." Mirage noted the group seemed eager but still somewhat hesitant, so it added: "This one does not mind."

"Did he make you sleep in a box?" burst Goyle. There were a few facepalms.

"This one cannot remember a single time it ever slept in a box." Mirage assured bemusedly. "Not ever. This one has a beautiful room full of comfy furniture and a large bathroom all for itself."

"He does feed you properly, right?" asked Pansy, and Mirage recognized a glint of motherly worry in her sly eyes. "I mean," she blushed a bit. "you looked well-cared-after yesterday when…" she trailed off.

"Yes," said Mirage, amused. "This one has been fed. Master also gives this one especial medicine and nutritive potions."

"Potions? Gross."

"Do you ever take off the…" Blaise Zabini gestured towards Mirage's choker.

"Sometimes, yes. Here at school this one takes its collar off when it washes, for instance. Of course, you understand this one is supposed to always wear it in the company of others."

There were some murmurs of agreement.

"And why are you not marked?" queried Millicent Bulstrode. "I had read slaves were marked, usually with burn-marks."

"My Master said the snakes in this one's arms provide this one's marking. He devised them himself."

"So they're curse-marks? Like the dark mark?"

"In a way. They're magical as well, only they don't share purpose nor qualities."

"Do you have your own money?" asked Crabbe. "I heard slaves cannot purchase things. What happens if you go to a store? Would they kick you out?"

Mirage gave this some consideration.

"This one has never done any shopping," it confessed. "My Master has always provided for this one."

"But what about things that you need to be present to buy? Like your clothing and wand?" stepped in Zabini.

"There is a bald man that My Master calls when he decides we need clothing. He goes to Master's home to take measures and goes back a week later to deliver the clothing," Mirage told them with some excitement. It rather liked the old tailor.

"Wicked!"

"As for the wand, Master took this one to a shop run by a pair of old ladies in Norway. They measured this one up, made it run and sing and stand on its hands and asked a plethora of questions. Then weeks later sent this one's wand by owl." Mirage extracted the thin piece of ebony from its robe. It was 31 centimetres long, with phoenix' ashes as its core.

"But the wand, is it truly yours or does it belong to your master? I mean, you are not supposed to own anything, are you?"

"That is correct," said Mirage. It had given this very subject a lot of thought over the years. "This one has even asked its Master about it, but he said this one could consider everything that he has given this one as if it was its."

Goyle scrunched up his face.

"Huh?"

"He gets to keep things. Legally he would be unable to hold property, but in the practice slaves such as Mirage answer first to their owner and then to law," explained Theo.

"You mean he could act illegally and not be held responsible?" asked Draco, fascinated.

"Not him, but his owner would have to answer in his stead."

Mirage nodded.

"My Master has told this one that it must always act according to what he has taught it."

"But you do get to go on raids, don't you?" asked Daphne Greengrass. "What happens if you got caught?"

Draco Malfoy burst into laugh.

"Oh, please, Daphne, like _anyone_ is against Lord Voldemort at this point!"

"That's not what I meant! What happens if Mirage kills someone, for example, would his master go to Azkaban for that?"

"He could," answered Mirage gravely. "This one is always careful, though."

There was a brief silence.

"You meant that comment about unforgivables yesterday," realized Pansy.

"What comment?" asked Bulstrode.

"Are you saying you've killed people?" asked Lysandra Travers, horrified.

Mirage stared at the girls.

"Of course," it said. "Haven't you?"

They shook their heads.

"Some of us have," said Theo darkly. "Don't you bloody go Hufflepuff on us now," he reprimanded the women. "Mirage is not the only one, nor are us Slytherins."

"Dumbledore alone was responsible for over a hundred deaths last war," reminded Draco proudly. "And I plan to make my first kill before I turn seventeen," he boasted.

"So you haven't yet," said Pansy, with a touch of sadness.

"It's been peaceful enough in Britain the last few years," defended Draco.

"Much as I'd like to stay," interrupted Theo, standing up. "I'd like to put my spare time to some use and pay some old friends a visit."

"What friends?" scorned Crabbe. "You barely ever talk to anyone."

"None of your damn business," answered Theo, turning for the doors.

"That sort of spoiled it," muttered Travers.

"We should all be going," said Draco. "We've pestered Mirage for long enough. I say we should go survey the pitch before practice starts, anyone game?"

The group stood and began walking, chattering excitedly about the quidditch teams.

Noticing Mirage remained at the table, Zabini turned back.

"Not coming?"

"This one is sorry," answered Mirage. "It would like to spend some time at the library, if it is alright with you all."

"Just what we needed, another boring bookie one!" complained Crabbe.

"We'll be at the quidditch pitch if you change your mind," said Pansy, elbowing Crabbe. "It's that way, you can't miss it," she added, pointing in its general direction.

"Thank you."

"Okay, then we'll see you later!"

"Laters!"

"See you," answered Mirage, waving at them as they retreated.

Following the path to the library was easy enough. Once there, Mirage proceeded to peruse the shelves for something on basic Alchemy. After some forty minutes, it sat at a small table in a corner and began leafing through the four tomes it had separated.

A few minutes later, a group of Ravenclaws took a seat at a bigger table nearby and cluttered it with parchments and books.

"What I'm saying is," began a girl with shoulder-length black hair. "If we posted a dragon here," she pointed to one of the parchments on the table. "You'd have to be at least level fifteen to continue."

"Why sure," said a boy with glasses. "But then we'd have to change all of these to make it worth their while after a dragon!"

"So? We can change it."

"You say that because you're not the one drawing," accused a girl with braided hair. "I still think a sphynx is more Ravenclaw."

Mirage watched them on the sly, still reading its books.

"No, no!" complained the boy at some point. "No poison, that's just too evident."

"What then?"

They paused, thinking.

"What about quicksand, a slow death?"

"Let's make it so other players can help, though."

Mirage smiled behind its book.

When it was nearing lunchtime, Mirage went to Madam Pince and registered three of the books to take with itself. It was turning to leave when it spotted Theo, walking towards the librarian with a couple of books, so it decided to wait for him.

"This one thought you were seeing some friends," commented Mirage when Theo approached.

"And I was," answered Theo smartly. "The books missed me."

Mirage laughed.

"This one is sure they did."

They walked together to the Great Hall and were just walking through a hallway when someone shouted from behind them:

"Hey! Isn't that the freak? Voldemort's bitch?"

Theo turned swiftly, drawing his wand. Mirage turned as well, hiding a smile at recognizing the voice.

"Be on your way, Weasley," warned Theo.

Mirage placed a hand on his elbow and pulled softly, prompting him to lower his wand.

"What? Is _it_ your girlfriend now also? My, you've been busy down there."

"Stay quiet," Mirage told Theo barely above a whisper. It then turned to Ronald Weasley, "Nice prick you got there," it said lewdly. "Only this one likes them bigger."

Weasley blushed beet red.

"You've no idea who you're messing with," warned Finnigan.

Mirage opened its mouth to say 'enlighten me' but glanced at Theo and noticed he was decidedly pale. Instead, Mirage brought forth its full allure and directed it to Weasley. It saw clearly the moment it took effect, how the boy's pupils dilated ever so slightly, his nostrils flared and his whole demeanour turned disjointed and clumsy.

"Let's go," he urged his sidekick.

"What?"

"Dean is waiting, and we're too close to the Hall to start a fight."

"But―"

"We'll get it when it's alone."

They walked past Theo and Mirage, Finnigan glaring daggers at the latter and Weasley averting his gaze uncomfortably as he saw Mirage lick its lips obscenely.

"The fuck did you just do?" asked Theo when the two of them had disappeared around a corner.

"What do you mean?" answered Mirage, perfectly innocent.

"I felt…" Theo trailed off. "I must be going off my bloody rocker."

Mirage chuckled.

"Let them be," it said. "Let's go have lunch. This one is eager to meet the charms professor. Is it true that he is very small?"

* * *

 ** _A/N:_** _I'm sorry for the hiatus. I had a lot going on and believe it or not, it took me five tries to get this chapter to be any decent. I'll try to update faster from now on. Please review with your thoughts, I assure you I'll take them into account during my writing of the next chapters!_


	6. The First Victim

**_For the disclaimer, see Prologue._**

 **Chapter Five: The First Victim**

Carolyne Desmond was walking down a hallway in the fifth floor. She was a fourth year Ravenclaw with shoulder-length black hair and an overactive imagination. She was currently not trying to get anywhere in particular, but instead just wandered about, deep in thought. She and her friends were trying to bring the concept of the classical muggle role-playing game into something with actual magic in it. It was no easy feat, but she was optimistic that they would succeed. As she walked, Carolyne tried to come up with rhymes for the riddles that they would write in some of the playing cards. She would pace around for a while, her brow furrowed and eyes faraway and stop suddenly to scribble (or cross out) something in the notebook she held in her left hand.

The problem was that Carolyne's mind kept going back to the idea of including dragons in the game, and her friends' lack of support regarding that specific suggestion jarred on her. How dare they say that it was childish? There was certainly nothing childish about gigantic, fire-breathing, human-eating, millenary lizards! She huffed indignantly.

In truth, although she was fascinated by them, Carolyne Desmond had never in her life seen a real dragon; only having watched them in moving pictures that she had found in the school's books. Two years ago, the Triwizard Tournament had been held at Durmstrang and, as stories would have it, the champions had battled one of the mighty beasts each, but she was just a little girl in her second year then, and she had not been allowed to attend.

But of course, deep down, Carolyne suspected she would not have been allowed even if she had been of age, because she was a _muggleborn_.

Being muggleborn was not all that easy in the current Wizarding Britain and, by the way events were unfolding, Carolyne feared the political circumstances surrounding the Kingdom (the so called 'Magical Liberation') would eventually extend to the whole of Europe.

It all had started years ago, before Carolyne was even born. An incredibly powerful wizard known to everyone as Lord Voldemort had begun spreading the ideology that wizardkind was superior to the muggles, going so far as to declare them different species and stating that the two should be completely separated. Carolyne had never been interested in the world of politics, and was unaware of all of the premises involved, but Voldemort had apparently gained the sympathy of most pureblooded families and used their influence to sway others to his beliefs. Over the course of the two years that followed, a movement to drive all the muggles away from Britain had started. It was supposed to be 'peaceful' unless the muggles attacked first, which, obviously, was an underhanded move. Who could be expected to be told to leave their house and country behind and not breathe a word of protest? A war had exploded, but the worst of it had lasted less than a month due to the muggles being annihilated at an alarming rate and few magic folks falling in the process. Hell, the muggles did not even know _where_ to attack! As a last resort, nuclear weaponry had been utilized, but Lord Voldemort had somehow predicted this and the Ministry had protected the wizarding areas (and in doing so, most of the Kingdom) with dome-like wards so enormous they reached higher that any wizarding invention could get. These wards transformed the missiles that breached the protection into white plush bunnies, of all things. The wards had the added effect of making every electronic or otherwise non-magically operated appliance to malfunction, stop working altogether or, in some cases, even explode; thus making life for the muggles that were inevitably protected by the wards very difficult.

The war ended when the muggles finally surrendered. Lord Voldemort himself convened with the muggle authorities, allowing a one-week ceasefire for the muggles to migrate out of the Kingdom.

The muggle parents that had magical children at the time had been allowed to remain and were moved to specific locations adapted to let them carry on with semi-normal lives. In a process that took several years, jobs were assigned, essential electrical appliances were adapted to perform in the magic-laden environment and the families had stablished secluded, quasi-muggle societies in the locations provided by the new Muggle Interest branch of the Ministry of Magic. That is not to say that these places were left alone, of course. For the sake of order-keeping, so called 'peace watchers' in blue robes (a half-arsed wizarding attempt to make aurors feel more like policemen to the muggles) patrolled the four such cities that existed, silently protecting the people while observing that no movement was made in rebellion while the magical children from the families were immersed in the new Wizarding Britain for good. For what was there to look forward to in a small city full of muggles having already experimented the growing wizarding empire and its wonders?

Muggles driven out, the wizarding population had flourished like never before, progressively reclaiming, demolishing and reconstructing. Even magical beasts that were previously endangered were thriving in the new extensive non-habited areas. Another factor that was greatly helping to increase the population was the migration of several wizarding folks running away from the dangers of their own countries and finding a magical haven of sorts in the new Wizarding Britain.

With the inevitable fall of the Statute of Secrecy, protests, revolts and attacks to families suspected of being magical had broken through all of the globe. Additionally, there were several international tensions arising due to the problems that the masses of immigrants from the EU swarming in to other countries were causing. Homelessness, poverty, hunger and starvation sky-rocketed while the native population suffered from the foreign viruses and bacteria that the immigrants had brought with them. Crime rates were also higher than ever, and terrorist attacks were more common than ever.

As a response to this, most of the wizarding world had been led to believe that Lord Voldemort's ideals had the truth of it, and that living along muggles was simply no longer possible. New wizarding leaders were rising in other European countries (mostly), and the current objective seemed to be making the Old Continent a purely wizarding-inhabited one, leaving the rest of the world for the muggles to wallow in their violence and destruction.

Wizarding Britain, of course, had its own (if less pressing) issues. Inside the growing magical community of Britain, matters were moving slowly, but the improvements in the quality of life were already noticeable. Truly, even muggleborns were finding their place in society with much more ease, although the ethical discussion behind the 'retrieval' of magical babies from the exiled muggle population was still a hot and very much unresolved topic laid at the political table of the Ministry.

Certainly, muggleborns were no longer excluded from participating in any significant way but, as a response to their full incorporation to the new Kingdom, the elite purebloods had become positively rigid in following the Traditions of Old, attempting to recreate the class system that had existed in years long gone by. It was yet unofficial, but as Carolyne Desmond understood it, efforts to establish several more educational institutions were already afoot, all the more because the sudden convergence of wizarding folks in a much larger society had revealed a severe lack in education for hundreds of children; and the sudden arrival of immigrants had posed the additional question of how these were to be educated, as Hogwarts was both unable to accommodate such numbers and unwilling to take in so many students because it would endanger its traditions.

The situation with education had only been made graver when, five years ago, a new Headmaster had been appointed at Durmstrang and their whole organizational system had been altered to not accept muggleborns, untalented or poor students unless it was under very specific circumstances (which were not public knowledge and had to be discussed with the Headmaster directly); thus inciting elitists in Britain to press for exclusive education in the Kingdom as well. It was suspected (correctly) by most, that the only thing keeping the purebloods from re-arranging certain social institutions to their liking was Albus Dumbledore and his undeniable influence in the Ministry of Magic.

Carolyne remembered that it was because of Durmstrang's views that Headmaster Dumbledore had determined it was best not to permit any of Hogwarts' muggleborns to attend the other school for the Triwizard Tournament. Naturally, he had not openly let this on, but it was implied, smartly hinted at, and Carolyne (even at the tender age of twelve) had understood.

All in all, Carolyne perceived that some of the structures being born in the new British wizarding society (that is, not only in education but in other areas such as commerce or marriages) conveyed the underlying message that there was a group in the wizarding society that was _superior_ , formed by the wealthy elite pureblood families; a group that was _average_ , made up mostly by half-bloods but which also included middle class purebloods and anyone with potential power; and a group that was _inferior_ , that is, the poor, the muggleborns and some creatures that had attained citizenship in recent years.

This offended Carolyne greatly, because she was not to be underestimated or taken lightly. Oh no, she was so much more that everyone else. She had always known, deep within her soul, that she was smarter, greater. She believed she was probably destined to some great adventures and fame.

This innocent fantasy would, for years to come, be a source of harsh disappointments for her.

Carolyne's thoughts had wandered far from her original task for several minutes now. She stopped her walking and raised her head to the deserted hallway, trying to focus back and missing in on the fact that the only two portraits in this specific section of the castle were eerily empty. Her head turned just slightly to the left and something else piqued her curiosity: next to her, in a windowless alcove, was an unimpressive bust of a hooked-nosed witch with a sour expression above a small, rusty plate. She had seen this bust several times, of course, but had never really _noticed_ it. It was just the sort of not-really-there thing which's presence you only notice after it has been removed, leaving you with a sense of inexplicable loss.

What had caught Carolyne's attention was naturally not the dusty old bust itself, but a golden necklace than hung from its neck. She approached to take a better look, awed by the five large, perfect emeralds that adorned its middle.

It was like a treasure, she realized. Probably one of those rare appearances Hogwarts destined for a special someone, like the fabled Rowena's diadem or the Chamber of Secrets. And it had appeared just as she was musing over her own greatness! It could not be a coincidence.

Of course, Carolyne was nothing if not clever, and so she took out her wand and ran a quick scanning spell to check that the necklace was harmless before pulling it off the bust. It had no clasp, she realized, but was long enough to comfortably pull over the head. She ran to the nearest loo and put it on, admiring the way the shards of light flickered inside the gemstones. Running her fingers over the fine golden links, Carolyne sighed. Beautiful, it was so beautiful.

Her back was straight as she walked out of the bathroom.

Through the rest of the day, she noticed the envious eyes of the other girls on her necklace and flickered her hair proudly. Some were even bold enough to ask about it, but she didn't let anyone else touch it. It was hers and hers only. Hogwarts had chosen her for a reason.

At night-time, Carolyne took longer than usual in the loo, admiring herself and her necklace in the mirror while slowly combing her hair. When she finally decided to go to bed, her hands grabbed the necklace with utmost care, barely touching it with her fingertips only to release it immediately, yelping as something akin to an electrical shock coursed through her fingers. She gasped, her hands felt numb. Shaking them to regain sensibility, she took a firmer hold of the artefact and tried to pull it off her. The electrical shock was stronger this time, extending from her hands to her arms and shoulders and she had to let go with a strangled cry. Her fingers hurt badly now.

Scared now (What is happening? Is it cursed? I checked!), Carolyne steadied herself and poised her shaking hands over the necklace, preparing to take it off in a quick movement. Breathing deeply, she avoided looking at the crazed look her eyes reflected in the mirror and took hold of the piece of jewellery, telling herself she would endure the pain until the awful thing was off her.

The pain was back as soon as she touched the necklace, becoming more intense by each passing second. Her fingers felt on fire but Carolyne pulled for all she was worth until she could feel the necklace raising only the tiniest bit from her skin, as if it was tremendously heavy or her arms incredibly weak. Tears streamed down her cheeks and a ragged scream tore out of her throat. She would not give up! She would take it off! She was no ordinary witch! Her legs suddenly felt unsteady and a moment later failed her. Carolyne fell down like a rag doll just as three of her dormmates rushed inside the lavatory to check on her.

"Carolyne, you're bleeding!" yelped one of them.

Carolyne was laying on her side, blackened fingers curled in front of her chest, her skin unnaturally pale and her body trembling. Fine tendrils of blood flowed from her ears and nose. She could also taste the coppery fluid in her mouth but could not tell if it was from her nose or if her throat was bleeding as well. She tried to answer, tried to ask for them to help, but her mouth would not cooperate. She babbled through open lips and heavy tears fell from her eyes. The other girls ran screaming.

Professor Flitwick found her in the same position not ten minutes later. Her dormmates were afraid of touching her because of the blood, that led them to think she had been poisoned.

Madam Pomfrey entered the room after the professor and the both of them floated Carolyne to a stretcher and escorted her towards the infirmary, followed by a group of scared Ravenclaws in pyjamas. The students were left even more agitated after Dumbledore, who was waiting by the infirmary's door with a sombre expression, prohibited them from entering with Carolyne and advised them to be calm and return to their dormitories.

At the Ravenclaw dormitories however, there was no calmness to be found. The murmurs and nervousness was further fed by professors Slinkhard and Snape, who looked haggard and irritable as they interrogated everyone and raided the rooms in search of any clue as to what had happened. Nobody knew a thing and it was a sobbing girl with long brown hair who claimed to be Desmond's friend who first mentioned the necklace.

While the Ravenclaws fidgeted in their tower, in the infirmary Madam Pomfrey quickly discovered that Carolyne's magical core had been drained almost completely and immediately administered a strong potion to put the girl into a deep slumber so she could begin to recover. It was determined that she had probably touched something cursed, because of her bloodied fingernails and blackened fingers that looked as if they had been frostbitten. Madam Pomfrey covered these in salve and bandaged both hands.

Dumbledore's countenance through all of it was grave.

Although both the headmaster and the mediwitch had run detecting spells on the girl, they had been unable to recognize that the gold necklace was the source of the problem. It was not until past midnight when professor Snape showed his sour visage in the infirmary to give a succinct report of his findings that attention was drawn to the object.

"Miss Montgomery mentioned that Miss Desmond showed up with it today and that she had never worn it before. She also said she seemed ' _enthralled_ ' by it."

Dumbledore pointed his wand at the necklace and muttered an incantation. A soft purplish hue glistened off its emeralds.

"It's cursed," confirmed Dumbledore.

The three adults exchanged glances.

"Is it a dark curse?" asked Pomfrey.

"I am afraid so," answered Dumbledore while Severus refrained from scoffing. Was there such a thing as a _light curse_?

"We should take it off her. If that is what is draining her core, it could very well kill her in the next few hours!"

"I don't think that taking it off would be wise," reasoned Dumbledore. "Without knowing what the results could be, we could inadvertently cause her demise by trying to remove it."

"You cannot seriously be suggesting we leave it as it is!" erupted the woman.

"Let's not make any rash decisions," said Dumbledore. "What do you think, Severus?"

Snape approached the slumbering girl and inclined his head to better appreciate the necklace. He hummed and straightened, aimed his wand at the object and muttered under his breath. Several incantations followed, some producing a reaction off the object and some apparently doing nothing.

"I had never before encountered this particular curse," he said. "It seems to be keyed to the person's intent, though I would not dare hazard a guess as to what exactly it does. I will check to see if there is anything that could be of aid in any of my books."

"Thank you, Severus," said Dumbledore. "I would appreciate that, but it's best if you leave it for tomorrow. It's very late. Go rest now, my dear boy."

Severus agreed wholeheartedly, he was exhausted.

"I hope she recovers," he said. "I will take my leave now," and so he turned around and headed out of the room in a swish of fabric.

"So what now, Albus?" queried Madam Pomfrey once the two elders were alone.

"We can't assure that taking the necklace off Miss Desmond won't harm her. I suggest we let her sleep and see if there is any improvement to her condition in the morning."

"I won't be held responsible if she is no longer breathing in the morning," said Madam Pomfrey angrily, glaring at the old man.

"Certainly not," said Dumbledore sadly. "You should rest, Poppy. Tomorrow will be another day."

* * *

The moment the sixth-year Slytherins entered the Great Hall, they noticed something bad had happened. There was a gloomy aura that seemed to weight down the atmosphere; downcast faces and low murmurs everywhere. Commiserating looks were being thrown towards the Ravenclaw's table.

"What happened?" Pansy asked as they sat around their table.

Irving Cram, a fifth-year prefect turned to the newly comers.

"A student was attacked."

Gasps answered this declaration.

"From Ravenclaw," guessed Blaise.

"Yes," confirmed Cram, and then he leaned forward, looking about to confess some horrible and irresistible secret. "A mudblood. She was poisoned."

"What!?"

"Who was it?"

"Did she die?"

Mirage filled his goblet with juice and his plate with food, listening intently and looking properly curious and alarmed.

"It was Carolyne Desmond, a fifth year," continued Cram. "She's in the Hospital Wing now. Anna Blishen's younger brother Harold says that she was found in the lavatories of her dorm, having seizures and frothing at the mouth. They don't know how bad she is because the Headmaster wouldn't allow anyone inside the Infirmary."

"Merlin, that's horrible!" shrieked Daphne.

"Why was she attacked?" asked Draco.

"I don't know," said Cram. "Nobody seems to."

"Maybe they're just tight-lipped about it," suggested a boy with glasses that Mirage had seen in the common room but whose name it did not know.

Suddenly, Vincent Crabbe snorted.

"Who cares, anyway? It was just a filthy mudblood."

Mirage turned calculating eyes to him, but had no chance to speak as Draco jumped in:

"You shouldn't say such things, Vince."

"Why?" stepped in Goyle. "She was a mudblood alright."

Mirage noticed sidelong glances being thrown its way.

"You know Our Lord's opinion on that subject," said Nott nonchalantly from behind a book, munching on a strip of bacon.

"Besides," offered Pansy. "If a mudblood was attacked, they will immediately suspect our House and we can't give them reasons to think it was us."

"It was not us, was it?" Lysandra asked Cram.

"Not to my knowledge."

"It was probably another Ravenclaw then," declared Blaise. The others nodded thoughtfully, but Mirage noted that Draco's brow was furrowed.

"How can you tell?" it asked Blaise.

It was Goyle who answered:

"Curses are dark, and Gryffindors are too hypocrite to use 'em proper. Hufflepuffs are just dumb."

Mirage nodded, not certain it understood but not really caring enough to ask more.

"I don't understand," blurted Draco suddenly, and everyone turned to him.

"What?"

"Why a mudblood? Why now? Mudbloods are milling about our society without any restrictions and that is just fine with Our Lord. Who amongst his followers would oppose him by attacking mudbloods now that there is peace? It would make more sense if it was a move from Dumbledore's side, but seriously… who could even think that one of Dumbledore's would attack the same mudbloods that they love so much? And a student, no less."

They pondered for a moment.

"There is a game changer here, though," Theo spoke over the silence, lowering his book and looking directly at Mirage.

"What do you mean?" asked Millicent, not understanding.

"Mirage," realized Blaise.

Theo nodded.

"I think," he said seriously, not taking his eyes away from Mirage. "That someone may be trying to get you expelled."


End file.
